Fields of Light
by SeventhLegend
Summary: Sequel to The Kiss of the Moon. (Read it!) One week after his desperate escape, Kal'reegar finds himself torn from the only one he cares for and thrust back into the thick of things. Haunted by too-vivid memories and tasked with a mission that goes horribly wrong, Kal and James are thrown back together in an adventure where the line between right and wrong is very blurry indeed.
1. Prologue

**Fields of Light**

The Sequel to The Kiss of The Moon

**Prologue**

_Blood. Its metallic tang fills his nostrils, sweet and at the same time bitter. His muscles burn with unnatural fire, energy pumping through his veins from a source that is out of his control. He does not care._

_ Voices call out to him, echoing to him from inside his own head, urging him to lose himself in their chorus, in a symphony of blood and violence. Needles and branches whip at his face and arms as he runs. Overhead an alien moon glows, its silver touch scorching his skin. His lips draw back from his teeth as the scent intensifies, blood and fear mixing into a irresistible perfume that pulls him onward. Faster,-_

Kal'reegar wakes with a jolt, jerking upright and gasping for breath. His eyes move wildly around the darkened room, his chest heaving as he runs his hands feverishly over his face. Smooth skin meets his touch, not coarse fur. His trembling fingers pass over a familiar nose and mouth, not the jutting muzzle of the Beast. He is still himself.

He feels the sheets stir next to him. "Again?" asks a soft voice just to his right.

Kal nods mutely. He leans forward, resting his arms on folded knees. His breathing gradually begins to return to normal, sweat slowly drying on his skin. _It lasted longer this time. _

Beside him James Mikaelson pushes himself into a sitting position. Kal can feel the human's eyes on the back of his neck. "Was it the same dream?"

Kal nods again. He draws in a shaky breath, straightening up. "Yeah. It went on for longer though."

James is silent for a while. "I wish I knew what it meant," he says at last. "But I just don't know."

_I don't either,_ thinks Kal. _Stress is supposed to fade with time, not get worse. But it's only been a week._ "I'm going for a walk," he says, swinging his feet onto the floor. James doesn't insist on coming with him. Kal smiles a little as he pulls on a jacket, pleased that the human knows him well enough to recognize that he wants to be alone.

...

The presidium, the vast park-like area of the Citadel, is dark. Kal leans against the balcony rail. His eyes are barely hindered by the artificial semi-night, but he still doesn't see the trees below him. Before his eyes a different set of trees sways in the wind, on a planet light-years away. He stares out into space for a while, letting the synthesized gentle breeze brush against his cheek. It's hard to believe that seven days have really passed since a human, a turian and a decimated squad of quarian marines escaped from that same planet. Seven days seem like such a thin wall between now and then.

_They were not poorly spent days, though_, Kal thinks to himself with the hint of a smile. He is still not sure what to call the _thing_ between himself and James. _Is it _between_ us, or _is it_ us? _he wonders. _What are we?_ He has heard stories of relationships born of intense circumstances, not stories with happy endings. _Isn't this the happy ending though?_

Kal doesn't answer his question. Men in stories with happy endings don't wake up in the night convinced their fingernails have grown into three-inch claws. They don't live in constant fear of hurting the ones they love because they cannot control themselves, or what they will turn into.

He closes his eyes, the far-away sound of the presidium's waterfalls soothing his mind. Tomorrow he boards a shuttle that will take him back to the Migrant Fleet, where he will complete his tour of duty with the marines. _Two months._ It seems like forever. James will be gone in a few days too. He has secured a place on a mining ship bound for the Terminus systems. They are going to be thousands of light-years apart.

Soft footsteps sound on the deck behind him. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks, the corner of his mouth rising.

"Not with you out here," replies James. Kal raises his eyelids slightly, glancing at the human. James is leaning on the railing next to Kal, looking out over the presidium. He raises one hand to his face, brushing away a strand of dark hair. "I don't like this," he says suddenly. "After everything, it's not fair. I wish..."

The words fade away into the silence, but Kal feels their meaning perfectly. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."

There has been a space between them over the past week, an almost tentative gap, like the distance between two docked ships. They have both felt a connection but hung back from trying to define it, sharing an unspoken agreement to _wait and see. _Kal looks down at the stream running through the sparse woods below them. _Was it a mistake?_ He wonders. _I suppose we'll never know._

A hand grips his shoulder and he looks up into James's face. The human's expression is visibly pained. His fingers tighten around Kal's shoulder. "I don't want you to go," he says, his voice almost plaintive.

Kal meets James's eyes, laying his own hand over the human's. "I don't want to go," he says. _But I will go,_ he thinks. _Two months. I didn't even know you a week ago, and now I can not imagine spending two months without you._


	2. Chapter 1

**Fields of Light**

**Chapter One**

"Strap ye'selves in lads, it's a rough ride at first."

James gives the harness over his shoulders an extra tug, checking the clasp yet again. He leans his head back against his seat, taking a look around. The flight seats are lined up in two columns of four, with James in the last row. He shoots a glance to the seat to his right. Its occupant, a younger man with shaggy black hair and a wrinkled collared shirt, has said barely a word since he and James came aboard half an hour ago.

From what James can tell he and the silent man are the only two newbies. The other six crewmen are already strapped in and are hidden behind their tall flight seats, except for the man speaking now. A tall man with a close-cut golden beard, he walks down the aisle between the seats like an attendant at an amusement park ride. He gives James's harness a jerk, then does the same for his neighbor. "Alright," he says, turning and striding back to his place at the front. "For those of ye who never done this before, it's gonna feel like we yanked the floor out from under ye. Just keep calm, once we get ourselves outside o' the Citadel's gravity well we'll cut in our own artificial G. Until then, please do ne throw up if ye can help it." The man swings into his flight chair and pulls the harness down over his shoulders, slapping the buckle into place. "Green, Sawyer!" he calls. "Let's get the hell outa here!"

James presses his head further back into his seat, letting out a shaky breath and tightening his grip around the harness. _Come on,_ he thinks. _Not _all_ ships crash terribly. Just all the ones you've been on recently..._

The ship hums to life around him. The floor begins to shake, sending vibrations up the chair and into James's bones. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to take deep breaths through his nose. A sidelong glance reveals that his silent companion remains as placid as ever. _Is he asleep?_

There's a roar that James feels reverberating through his entire body, and then he's thrown back into his seat as the ship surges forward. James is suddenly lying on his back looking up at the seat in front of him, terrible force crushing him down into the back of his flight chair. The harness rattles against his chest, accompanying the chattering of his teeth as the ship shakes violently from side to side. He struggles to pull in breath, his chest feeling as if several men are standing on it, the shaking continuing until he's sure his brain will be jarred out of his skull.

And then suddenly it's over, and James floats gently forward, bumping against his harness. He blinks, his ears ringing as his blood begins to flow normally again. The roaring of the ship has been reduced to a gentle hum. "Just a minute now," calls the bearded man from the front row. "We're nearly out of citadel space, the captain'll switch on the gravity soon."

From the front of the ship James hears muttering, and then a soft electronic whine. "Piece of shit!" someone yells, and there's a _clunk_ that sounds like someone's boot connecting with a recalcitrant technical component.

There's a moment of pause, and then James drops out of the air and onto the seat of his chair, his arms suddenly losing their gentle weightlessness. He blinks, loosening his white-knuckled grip on the harness.

The bearded man slips out of his chair, rising and resting his hands on the seats to either side of him. "Good morning, gentlemen. I would say ladies and gentlemen, but there's only one lady here and I believe we're already acquainted." He eyes James and the apparently comatose man to his right. "As for you two, I don't think we've been properly introduced."

A man throws off his harness three seats in front of James, getting to his feet and turning away from the group. "I'll pass on the happy family speech, McCormick. Once was enough, believe me. I'll be in my cabin." He slouches off to a door at the front of the room, buzzing it open and disappearing around the corner.

The bearded McCormick watches him go, then turns back to the new arrivals, offering them a rueful smile. "Well, that's Mr. Geoffrey Rogers, first mate t'Captain Sawyer. As ye can see, he don't care much for my company. I'm Keith McCormick, and this around you is the crew of the _Ariadne, _the galaxy's finest mining vessel. Getcher selves outa yer seatbelts and I'll show ye around."

James carefully undoes his harness and stands up slowly, testing his legs. To his pleasant surprise everything still seems to work, so he follows McCormick down the aisle to the door at the far end of the room. His eyes skim over the rest of the crew as he passes: Three more humans, one woman and two men, as well as a quarian male.

The door hisses shut behind them and McCormick leads the way down a corridor that curves back around the outside of the previous room. "The other fellow back there is Neil Briggs. He's the science officer here on the _Ariadne_. The old codger is Andre. He may have another name, but none of us know it. He's been a miner since the expansion, so after we get ye started if ye have any questions ask him." McCormick comes to the end of the curved hall, stopping at a vertical shaft. He gestures to a pair of yellow rails protruding from its end. "General crew deck's down here a ways, watch yer tread."

James follows McCormick down the ladder as the man continues his exposition. "The lass back there goes by Ms. Tyler, an' ye'd best forget about tryin' te find out her first name. She's quiet enough, but I get the feelin' she can held her own in a fight. Pretty, but cold. Steer clear is my advice."

McCormick waits for the two to step off of the ladder, then he turns and steps through a short tunnel into what James assumes is the mess. As they pass through the tunnel he notices a section of ladder running across the ceiling. _How often do they have to kick something to keep the gravity working?_

The step out into the mess. Two rectangular tables fill the center of the room. A counter with a row of cabinets and a set of strapped-down cooking utensils lines one wall. McCormick makes for the other side of the room, where another hall leads off to the left and right. "I guess that's everyone," he says. "Oh, and then there's the quarian boy, Zael. Lad's on his pilgrimage, we picked him up a few weeks ago. He's a good boy, but the rest o' the crew, well..." He shrugs, then waves an arm down the hall to the left. "Bunks are down both sides o' this hallway here. Engineering's down there," he says, giving the ladder at his feet a kick. "don't worry much about that, there's not much down there. That's about it really, save fer the observation rooms back up top and the cockpit. You know everyone else now too, at least by name, so I have te ask ye yer names now."

James shoots a glance at the man beside him. Hidden behind his hair, the man makes no move to do first, so James clears his throat. "James Mikaelson. Good to meet you, Mr. McCormick." He accepts the man's proffered hand, not surprised to be met by a firm, energetic grip.

"Bonny," says McCormick enthusiastically, turning to the silent man. "And who'll ye be, then?"

"Derek," the man mutters, not bothering to move the hair out of his face. "Anderson." He takes McCormick's hand, shaking it noncommittally.

"Fine, fine," says McCormick, extricating his hand from the limp grip with an expression of mild distaste. "Well, there're only three rooms fer the eight of us, so ye'll be wanting t'know who yer rooming with."

"I thought there were nine crewmen," remarks James.

"Aye," consents McCormick, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, it is ne regulation, but we all sort of figured it'd be better t'let Rogers have his privacy. It's not that no one wants t'share a room with him..."

As if on cue, the last cabin door slides open and the first mate sticks his head into the hallway. "What're you assholes doing out here?" he demands. James notes dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. "Are you trying to wake the dead, or what?"

"Well, we woke _ye_ up, so it's a start," says McCormick under his breath.

Rogers squints at the taller man. "What? You say something, ya damned loon?"

"No sir," replies McCormick, raising his voice. "Just showin' the recruits around the ship."

Rogers turns his watery gaze on James and Derek. "Eugh," he pronounces, making a face. "What rock did you find them under?"

McCormick turns, making shepherding motions toward the ladder to the upper decks. "We'll be leavin' ye now, sir," he calls over his shoulder. "Sorry te have disturbed ye."

The three men beat a hasty retreat, climbing back up the ladder as Rogers's door shuts again behind them. "Love that guy," mutters Derek when they're back on the flight deck.

"Space travel does ne agree with him," says McCormick. "That's the official story, an' ye'll keep by it. Stay outa his way an' you'll be just fine. He keeps t'his quarters most o' the time anyhow." His expression changes, a smile stretching across his wide face. "Come on, I'll show ye the observation deck. It's the best part."

James and Derek follow him down the curving hallway, through the section of hall that connects the flight room and the cockpit, and around the other side. At this end there's a ladder leading up, instead of down. McCormick extends an arm. "After ye, gentlemen."

James climbs up into a darkened room. Lights on hibernating computer consoles blink at him, and in the dim light he can make out rows of benches and monitors on the sides of the room, with a semi-circular console in the center of the floor. McCormick sticks his head up from the ladder, a grin on his face. "Ready?" Without waiting for a response, he punches a switch on the side of the wall.

There's a low whine, and then James's mouth drops open as the entire ceiling slides away, revealing a sea of stars overhead. He's aware of McCormick as the man comes up behind him, standing beside him as the lights of the heavens sparkle above them. "It just never gets old," he breaths, and James silently agrees. As he stares out at the thousands of lights dancing on the inky blackness he thinks of Kal. He feels a pang of sorrow, realizing that in the whole of the void before him he does not know where his quarian is. _How can we ever be together again when we are unimaginably far apart? What threads hold us together? What ball of string will guide me back to you, Kal'reegar?_


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: I _finally_ have my internet connection back. Thank you, hurricane Sandy.**

**A sincere thank-you to my patient readers. Updates are now back on track.**

**Chapter 2**

The shuttle swoops, dropping acceleration as it nears the larger ship. Kal fidgets in his seat, the uncomfortable almost-gravity making it impossible to sit still. He's alone on the shuttle, save for the invisible pilot guiding the FTL shuttle toward the Migrant fleet. Kal rubs his palms together, feeling them almost touch through the sensitive fabric of his suit. _So much damn _almost_. _He finds himself thinking back, longing to feel damp soil beneath his feet and the wind in his hair again. _If anyone else knew what it's like,_ he thinks, gazing out the small window to the ship floating in the distance like a sterile fish tank. _If they had felt what I've felt, they'd never want to go back. Hell, _I _don't want to._ He knows the suit is a necessity, though; an un-suited Kal'reegar would raise some uncomfortable questions, which would most likely lead to even more uncomfortable medical procedures and examinations. There would be no telling when he would see James again.

The shuttle finally docks half an hour later, merging into the liveship's mass effect field with a stomach-turning lurch. Kal rises awkwardly, stretching his stiff arms in all their sudden weight, and makes for the airlock.

He is met inside the ship by two marines in blue-gray combat suits. "Sir," he says, hailing Kal almost before he has a chance to disembark. "Lance-corporal Rainar, sir. You're to come with us immediately for briefing."

Kal eyes the man in front of him. "'Sir?' Did I get promoted while I was gone?"

"Ah, yes sir," answers the marine, clearly surprised. "I thought you knew. You've been promoted to sergeant, sir."

Kal processes this. Something doesn't seem right, but he gives a curt nod to Rainar anyway. "Right. Lead the way then, lance-corporal." _Might as well act like I know what's going on,_ he adds silently. _Questions can come later._

He follows the two marines through a twisting series of corridors that wind through the liveship. He is hit by a strange mix of feelings as he once again walks through rooms and galleries filled with countless other quarians. It should feel like a homecoming, and in a way it is very good to be among his own people once more, but at the same time he feels removed from everyone else. Different. Something about it makes Kal feel strangely sorrowful, almost poetic. _I've felt the open air on my face, walked under trees and smelled their needles. I've killed men with my teeth and claws, tasted their blood, _he thinks absentmindedly as he trails after the marines through a garden full of almost-natural plant growth and almost-real streams of filtered water. He misses a step, suddenly realizing that he's thinking of the beast's body as his own. _Claws! I don't have claws. Quarians don't have claws and fangs. _He looks around the garden a last time before following Rainar down a narrow side passage. _Maybe I'm not a quarian anymore. Not completely. If I can change into... something like that, does it ever go away completely?_

His troubled thoughts are cut short as he and the Marines arrive at a locked door. The lance-corporal activates his omni-tool. "Lieutenant, it's lance-corporal Rainar. Sergeant Reegar is here for briefing." After a moment the door's lock turns green and it slides open with a pressurized hiss.

Kal steps inside after the two soldiers, looking warily around the room. It's an office, with a small but neat desk in one corner and another door set in the back wall. Kal lowers his guard when he sees the man behind the desk. He steps forward, a slight smile on his lips. "Commander Zarra!"

Zarra rises, stepping around his desk to shake Kal's hand. "Kal'Reegar. And it's first lieutenant now."

Kal shakes Zarra's hand, matching the lieutenant's firm grip. "Good to see someone up there recognizes good work, sir," he says.

Zarra laughs dryly. "Well, loosing my entire squad isn't what I'd call good work, but apparently the board sees it differently."

"The entire squad?" says Kal, taken aback. "But there were other survivors!" His mind goes guiltily to Lira.

Zarra nods to the Rainar and the other marine. "Dismissed." The two soldiers salute, then turn and stride out of the room. Zarra waits for the door to shut behind them, then he turns away from Kal, reaching his hands back to massage his shoulders. "Eight men and woman killed in action. Two dead from infection. Three transferred from active duty for injuries and infection. Thirteen less marines in total. Keelah, Kal, I didn't want this."

Kal stands quietly, letting the numbers wash over him. "You did your best, sir," he says after a few moments. "We all did. We did everything we could do."

Zarra turns angrily. "That's all we ever do, but it's not enough! Those men trusted me. They..." His anger fades as quickly as it came, and he looks down at the floor for a moment. He raises his eyes to Kal's again, his tone level. "Apologies, sergeant."

Kal's eyebrows raise behind his visor. "We've been through hell, Zarra. You don't have to call me by rank. If anyone's earned the right to vent a little, it's you. Uh, sir," he adds.

Zarra chuckles softly. "Same old Kal. Yes, you're probably wondering about the 'sergeant' thing, aren't you? Not exactly an expected promotion, I gather."

Kal shakes his head. "No sir. I thought I was going to be assigned to Tali'Zorah's squad on Haestrom."

"Well, yes, you originally were," says Zarra. "But then the shit hit the fan up at the admiralty board. She left while you were on leave. Admiralty has something else for you." He raises his omni-tool, talking as he taps in commands. "Our snoopers picked up signal activity from a planet in the Perseus Veil. _Geth_ activity. Scans revealed a permanent base on the planet's surface before our probes were shot down."

"That's not too surprising," says Kal. "It's in the outer rim. Geth have always stuck to the outskirts of the galaxy."

"It's not a geth base, though," says Zarra. "Some of the components are certainly of geth origin, but overall the structure looks nothing like a geth building. It's also in the middle of a salarian city."

"Ah," says Kal.

Zarra nods grimly. "Yes. I don't have to tell you what a political nightmare this could be. If the geth are working with the salarians, our future doesn't look so good. Could be the beginnings of war, and you know the admirals are itching for a chance to attack the geth."

"So what's the fleet doing about it?" asks Kal.

"It's not war," replies Zarra. "Not yet, anyway. Admiralty is sending a covert team planet side to check it out, with a full platoon to back them up in case the worst comes to pass. We want this to stay as quiet as possible. The last thing we want to do is piss off the salarians."

"Could it just be salarian scientists working on geth tech?" asks Kal.

Zarra shakes his head. "The signals couldn't have come from inactive components. There are live geth down there, playing with the salarians. Our mission is to find out what game it is."

"_Our_ mission?"

"That's right. I've got the platoon, and you're heading the recon team."

Kal nods. It makes sense. "Yes, sir," he says, straightening his back. "When do we leave?"

Zarra glances at his omni-tool. "In 500 hours. Hope you got a good night's sleep."

…

James wakes. He opens his eyes in the dark, lying perfectly still in his narrow bunk, listening to the hum of the drive core and the ticking of the air ducts. He stretches out a hand, brushing his fingers across the steel wall next to him, imagining them passing through the metal and across light-years of space. _How could something so perfect last for such a short time,_ he wonders. _One week of happiness, like a dream. And now I'm alone again, floating through space in a metal coffin hundreds of thousands of billions of miles away from anything._

Someone stirs in the bunk above him and James turns over, pulling the coarse wool blanket higher. _I don't even have a home,_ he thinks, sorrow rising in the back of his throat. _All I have is you, Kal. Don't forget me. _He closes his eyes and presses his face into his thin pillow, biting his lip to stop the tears.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Sergeant_ Kal'reegar steps inside the troop transport. A quick glance around reveals the three squads of Zarra's new platoon, already seated in their flight chairs with their harnesses secured over their chests. Heads turn as the airlock opens. Kal can feel the soldiers' eyes sizing him up, trying to take the measure of the man who will be leading them into hell in a few hours. He ignores them, swinging into his own seat at the end of the third row.

Lieutenant Zarra strides to the front of the transport, dropping into the last vacant flight chair. His voice hits Kal's ears, filtered through his helmet's speakers. "Marines, I am first lieutenant Stefar'Zarra." Kal suddenly realizes that the marines don't know Zarra anymore than they know him. _That's dangerous. I hope someone knows what they're doing. _"You have all been briefed," continues Zarra, his voice authoritative and even. "But I will reiterate. The purpose of this mission is to investigate geth presence on the planet Catreus, in the Perseus Veil. The Admiralty Board also has cause to believe that there may be Salarians on Catreus, in less-than-warlike relations with the geth. This makes the situation highly political, and thus the need for swift, covert action has been stressed. If the geth do indeed have an operational base on Catreus, we are to remove it. Any geth presence this close to the fleet poses a high risk."

"And what if the salarians are working with 'em?" mutters a marine to Kal's right, just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

"Then," says Zarra, looking around at the platoon. "We're up to our knees in shit."

There are a few chuckles from the men, and just as Zarra begins to speak again the pilot's voice cuts through the comm channel. "We're cleared for takeoff. Gravity displacement in ten seconds." There's a dull, resounding _clunk_, and Kal knows the transport has detached itself from the liveship.

Small military ships like this shuttle don't generally use their mass effect generators to create a local artificial gravity field, instead economizing on energy and putting more power toward thrust. A small amount of artificial pull remains, about one fifth of a G. When the transport pulls away from the liveship's mass effect field Kal feels a disconcerting lifting sensation, his weight diminished but still extant.

Zarra continues the briefing as soon as the transport is traveling under its own power. "_Elarus _squad, lead by Sergeant Reegar, will be the reconnaissance team. _Feraror _and _Retellis _squads will provide backup in the case of an engagement." Zarra raises his hand, omni-tool glowing around his forearm. A translucent orange map expands in the air before him. Kal cranes his neck, trying to see the points outlined on its surface. "The approximate location of the enemy base is here," Zarra says, indicating a clump of geometric shapes in the center of the map. "From our limited intelligence, it seems that the planet is or was once populated by salarians. The nature of the settlement is unknown. It is possible that it's merely a salarian colony overrun by geth."

"Wouldn't we have heard about something like that?"

Zarra chooses to ignore the outburst, his attention remaining on the map. "In any case, any salarians we encounter are to be treated as friendlies until further notice. We don't know what's going on here, and our mission is to find out, not make it worse. Our LZ is here," he gestures to another point, to the south of the first one. "It looks to be on the outskirts of the city, although we have no knowledge of the terrain. If the transport can land, great. Otherwise we're roping in. Base camp will be set up immediately upon arrival. Remember, the exact position and number of hostiles is unknown, so we will be constantly on watch."

…

Morning comes on the _Ariadne_ without much ado. James wakes to the hissing of the cabin's door. He sits up in his narrow cot and swings his legs over its side. The steel deck is cold under his bare feet, so pulls on socks and boots before standing up, careful not to hit his head on the bunk above him. The old man Andre, his only cabin-mate, has already left the room. James reaches for his trunk, pulls out a set of clothes, spends a few moments trying to get his pants on over his boots, then gives up and, hopping on one leg, puts them on properly. He re-laces his boots over frigid feet and steps out into the corridor. The hallway is empty, so James heads for the mess, trying to blink away his fatigue.

The crew is gathered in the mess, spread out among the tables. Keith McCormick stands behind the small counter, and as James approaches uncertainly the bearded man turns to face him. "Mornin' to ye," he says. "Wait a minute; I've got a pot o' coffee here about ready te pour." Keith turns back to his coffee pot, and James takes a moment to study the crew. Andre and another man he can't remember the name of are sitting together, silently consuming their breakfasts. The crew's only woman is sitting at the far end of their table, and the silent man from the Citadel, Anderson-something, sits alone at the other. The captain, the first mate, and the lone quarian are nowhere to be seen. _Real friendly group_, thinks James, trying not to feel too dejected.

McCormick leans back across the counter, thrusting a steaming mug into James's hands. "Here ye go. Didn't get much sleep last night, did ye?"

James shakes his head. He knows he must have visible shadows under his eyes; he barely slept at all the previous night.

"New to this, are ye?" asks McCormick, not unkindly. "That's alright. We'll have ye sorted out. Swallow that, get some breakfast int' ye, and I'll take you an' Anderson down to the cargo bay an' show ye how the equipment works."

…

The transport rocks from side to side, battered this way and that by the planet's atmosphere as it makes its descent. Inside the ship's belly, Kal holds tight to his harness. The transport shakes violently, throwing him up and down and back against his seat. Clouds obscure the portholes, making it impossible to see outside. He tries unsuccessfully to calm his racing heart. No matter how many times he does it, a drop into enemy territory always fills him with anxiety and anticipation, accompanied by the bitter taste of fear. He forces himself to breath deeply, loosening his death-grip on his assault rifle stock. _The zone should be clear,_ he tells himself. _Just get in there and establish a perimeter. Nothing unusual._

The pilot's voice comes over the comm line. "Ground in sixty seconds. Stand by."

Kal looks around him. All the pre-combat rituals have already been completed. The marines stare straight ahead, each finding their own way to focus on the mission and drown out their fear. Kal pulls in a deep breath.

Suddenly the ship lurches alarmingly, throwing Kal back against his seat. "Ground in twenty seconds!" calls the pilot's voice urgently. Kal twists around to get a look out the window, but all the glass shows is more billowing white. _That can't be right, we're still at cloud level._

The ship lurches again, and this time there's a harsh tapping against the side of the transport, like rain on a window. Kal looks to Zarra, but the lieutenant is already calling to the pilot. "How high are we?"

The tapping comes again, rattling sharply against the ship's side. "Ground in five seconds!" yells the pilot, his voice panicked. "Taking fire!"

The transport's tailgate begins to open, blowing in a flurry of whiteness and biting cold. "Ready weapons!" orders Zarra.

Kal punches out of his harness, the rest of his squad following suit. The transport is still now, silent save for the rattling of what must be machine gun fire against its side and the howling of the wind through the now-open hatchway. "Go!" yells Zarra, waving the first squad forward.

Kal squints into the blinding, swirling white. "Are we really at-" he begins, but stops as a marine jumps down from the ramp, landing on invisible ground a few feet below.

"It's clear," he calls back to the lieutenant. "LZ-"

Kal reels backward, his eyes wide as the marine vanishes in a spray of dirty red that splashes across the transport's ramp. A severed hand hits the deck at the top of the ramp, rolling to a stop at the feet of a marine who recoils, repulsed.

It's as if the image takes a second to sink in, and then Lieutenant Zarra is screaming into the comm. "LZ is hot! Repeat, LZ is hot!"

"Disembark!" cries the pilot. "I'm pulling out, disembark now!" Another blast hits nearby the ramp, the sound echoing loudly inside the transport.

"We need to relocate!" yells Kal. "The LZ is no good, we need a different drop!"

"Negative! Shield integrity is dropping, get the fuck out before I take off!"

"You heard him!" commands Zarra. "Disembark, _Feraror_ on Teliran, _Retellis _on me, _Elarus _on Reegar!"

Kal pushes to the front of his squad. _Gotta get out of here. Can't stay, too big a target._ "On me," he orders. "Form up! Once we're off that ramp you're on my ass!" _Feraror _squad runs down the ramp, _Retellis _following close behind them and disappearing into the white. As soon as the last squadman from _Retellis_ is on the ramp Kal charges after them.

The ground gives beneath him, his boots sinking into what must be snow. He struggles to see in the haze, casting around him for his squad. Over his shoulder he sees the glow of the transport's open mouth. The ramp is empty. _We all made it off. _An explosion goes off nearby and someone screams. Gunfire breaks out somewhere to his left, impossible to pinpoint in the wind and whirling snow. "_Elarus squad!_" he calls, switching to the intra-squad channel. "On me! No lights!" He activates his own headlamp, well aware that it will attract fire but unable to think of another way to let his squad see him. "Sound off!" He listens intently as the men check in, all the time keeping an eye on the flashes of blue and orange light to the north. Satisfied that everyone is accounted for, he quickly switches to the main comm frequency. "Zarra!" he says, pushing through the snow, away from the direction of the gunshots. "Status!"

There's a moment of static, and then Zarra's voice comes back to him, tight and strained. "Multiple hostiles, unknown position. Machine gun battery somewhere out... North of the LZ. Mortar fire, but they can't get a fix through this shit, they're just shooting wild. Two fatalities confirmed, maybe more."

"Orders?"

"Get the hell out of here, Reegar! I'm taking _Feraror _and _Retellis _east. We'll meet up later."

"Affirmative." Kal turns over his shoulder. He can barely make out the silhouettes of his men through the snow. Behind them the transport is pulling away, blue tracers ricocheting off its armor plating and away into the night. _At least he got out,_ thinks Kal. Just as he's about to turn away again, a pinpoint of orange light comes spiraling out of the darkness toward the transport. Kal opens his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but knowing it's too late. The ship explodes, blossoming into a yellow fireball even as the shockwave sends Kal tumbling forward into a snowdrift. He picks himself up, shaken, and resumes his jog away from the LZ.

…

"This here is yer pick-axe."

James catches the metal tube as it's thrown at him, nearly dropping it when he feels its weight.

"Get a feel for 'er," says McCormick, striding back to the rack and picking up another identical tube. "This's yer new favorite thing in th' whole universe."

James turns the thing over awkwardly in his hands. Various knobs and unidentifiable protrusions, well, _protrude_ from the tube's surface. He wants to ask what the hell a "pick-axe" is, but he doesn't want to look like an idiot.

"Mechanical rotator tip," continues McCormick, sliding his hands deftly along the device and somehow coaxing it to extend. A drill-like tip pokes out of one side, two handles folding out from the other. "Laser diode," he says, pressing more buttons. The tool hums and the tip begins to glow. "Three settings, all good for different jobs. You'll see. Pass 'er to Anderson, willya James?"

James hands the thing off to Anderson, happy to see it go. The younger man takes the tool, looking at it as if it might bite. He cocks an eyebrow at James, who shrugs.

"Ah, ye'll both get a practical lesson later. I'll show ye how to get into yer suits, if ye don't already know, and all that safety-first bullocks. Fer now though, let me introduce ye t' Elmer." McCormick heads for the far corner of the hangar, covering the distance in a few long strides. He reaches for the corner of a dusty tarp, yanking it away with a flourish.

James's eyes widen. Standing slumped in the corner of the hangar is what looks like a large security mech, like the YMIR models he has seen once or twice guarding the houses of the important or wealthy. This mech's body is different though, with more emphasis around the shoulders and legs. In addition, instead of a high-caliber cannon, its left arm bears a large drill. The front of the mech's torso is made of tinted glass, like a cockpit.

"Gentlemen," says McCormick, his voice showing a bit of pride. "What we're after is Eezo, element zero, the Blue Stuff. These little rocks will give ye ten types of cancer if ye so much as _look_ at 'em, but they're also worth a ton of credits to research labs, personal bidders, and, if all else fails, the government. Now, lucrative business that it is, ye'd wonder why everyone an' 'is brother ain't out huntin' for these things. I'll tell ye why: they're damned hard to get to. Th' little bastards like t' hide deep in th' planet's crust. That's why we got Elmer here. We blast a big fuckin' hole, and then someone climbs inside th' mech and starts excavating. As soon as the sensors pick up a little blue, the rest o' us get in there with our drills and whittle away at it until we hit cash."

James can't think of anything to say to this, so he does his best to nod appreciatively. McCormick beams, pulling the tarp back over the mech. "We're headed out into the Perseus Veil," he says, leading the way back out of the hangar. "Lots of good, untouched planets out there. Lots of money to be made. Once we get there we'll scout around a bit, take some readings and try to find a good one to land on." He looks back at the new recruits then heads off down the hall, shaking his head. "Well, I can tell Anderson is just thrilled. I don't know how 'e contains all that excitement..."

…

Captain Gale Hendrickson leans back in his chair, idly twisting the plastic cube between his fingers. The chair creaks as he leans back further, resting his boots on the brushed-steel desk. The cube clicks softly as his fingers rearrange it, but his eyes are on the magazine on the desk before him. It's a gun magazine; Gale Hendrickson is not interested in guns, but the magazine fascinates him because it makes him wonder how anything so thoroughly boring could be of interest to anyone.

_Click,_ goes the cube.

_Maybe it's not the guns,_ he thinks, raising a hand to flip the page. _Maybe it's just the machismo of owning one and carrying it around as a testament to your own inadequacy, as if a piece of metal could make you a man. How sad._ He wonders if he should tell his men to stop reading this shit, then decides against it. They are soldiers; soldiers need guns. If they really care about the color and shape of their weapons, then so be it.

_Click. Click._

He shifts his feet on the desk. A glance at the clock over the door of his cabin tells him it's 1800 hours, just as it has been the last two times he's checked it in the past minute. The dry, oppressive boredom of space travel is beginning to make his skin itch. Maybe he'll go down to the drive core again. The head engineer is barely competent, but Gale likes it this way. His job requires so little work while the ship is in transit that if he didn't spend a few hours in engineering each day he would go mad from boredom. He rises, pushing back his chair and setting the plastic cube down on the desk. All the little tiles match, each side a solid color. _Again. _Gale sighs, turning away from the desk. He hopes his engineers have made some really interesting mistakes today.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The sun rises. Kal'reegar stands at the edge of the cliff, his eyes taking in a landscape of pure white mixed with the violet-magenta tinge of early morning light. A gust of wind blows a flourish of snow up off of a drift, casting a shower of golden sparkles high into the air. The air itself is clear, last night's blizzard no where to be seen. There is nothing before him now but the silent, naked beauty of a seemingly endless plain of snow. Kal scans the vista yet again, searching for any landmark at all that might tell him where the rest of the platoon is. If he squints into the distance he can make out a vague bluish haze that might be a forest, or a city, or nothing at all.

He turns to his left, where the squad's sniper whose name he has forgotten is scanning the horizon through the scope of his rifle. "Anything?" he asks the marine. She shakes her head.

"Nothing, sir. I can barely see with all the glare, and looking into the sun doesn't help either. I'd say there's something out past the plane, but I can't tell what."

Kal nods, stepping back from the cliff's edge. In the blinding storm the previous night the squad had almost literally run into the side of the low cliff. Kal decided to work their way around and try to find a way to the top. It had taken them most of the night to find any sort of path, and by the time they reached the top they were exhausted and cold even in their insulated suits. Half the squad had remained on guard while the other half attempted to pitch their light-weight shelters. _That_ had taken the rest of the night.

The dome-shaped tents are arranged in a close semi-circle, their semi-active camouflage fading into the landscape around them. When the flaps are drawn they are barely visible at all. The fatigued squad sits around a heating element in the center of the half-circle. They had tried to melt the snow, then given up when it revealed nothing but more snow beneath it. One man is running a pen light over his rifle, trying to thaw the thin coat of frost already forming on the metal. The rest sit pensively, their eyes flicking around the empty landscape, to Kal, and back to the snow.

Kal looks around the group, wondering how things could have gone so wrong so fast. There's been no radio contact from Zarra's squads since the previous night. _What do I do?_ he wonders helplessly.

…

"We've got our first target! First mate to the bridge!"

McCormick looks up at the distorted bark of the PA system, then quickens his pace to a jog, pulling himself quickly up the ladder to the upper deck. James follows, uncertain if there's something he should be doing.

When he pokes his head up above the ladder he sees that the observation room has transformed since the last time he saw it. The rows of computers along the sides of the room are alive with readouts and glowing columns of data. The central console has a man sitting behind it, tapping at the holographic screen. He looks up as McCormick strides toward him. "I've got a good one," he says, his fingers continuing their dance over the translucent keyboard. "Scans are showing two main eezo deposits near the surface, one at six hundred meters and another at eight-fifty. Give me a minute, I'll bring 'er up on the big screen."

James climbs onto the deck, tilting his head back as the shutters slide away from the observation screen overhead. The view is black, save for a scattering of silver stars.

"Aaand here we go," says the man at the console, and James jerks back in alarm, stifling a cry as an entire planet seems to fly towards them, stopping only a few feet from the glass. He casts a furtive glance at McCormick, but he and the other man seem unfazed by the seeming near-collision.

McCormick eyes the planet overhead appraisingly. "Looks temperate," he remarks.

The seated man nods. "Yeah, haven't run scans yet but I'd say so too. There's a decent amount of eezo in there, too. It;s not the mother-lode, but it'll make Sawyer happy."

McCormick claps the man on the back. "Well, good then, because a happy captain makes for a happy ship."

The man snorts. "Yeah, whatever. What'd make _me_ happy is to get my cut and get my ass back to Ilium."

"Oh really? What makes ye so hot t' get t' Ilium then?"

"Nothing a perpetual loner like you would understand, McCormick."

"Oh, I think I understand. Th' allure of _the blue rose_ has captured many a lonely sailor's heart."

"Shut up, you dumb monkeyfuck. You been alone so long you don't even remember what a woman looks like."

"I remember well enough. Th' women I remember had _hair_ on their heads though, not tentacles."

"They're not tentacles, asshole!"

James only half-hears the banter, his eyes fixed on the planet hanging suspended above their heads. Green and brown continents poke up out of wide, rust-red seas. Icy white spreads out from the globe's bald poles, swirling clouds wrapping around the whole picture. Light flashes from within them. _Lightning. I'm seeing a thunderstorm from above. _"What's it called?" he asks. He lowers his gaze, seeing the men's questioning faces. He suddenly wishes he hadn't said anything; his voice sounds awkward and out of place in his ears. "The planet," he says, feeling stupid.

The man at the console shrugs disinterestedly. "I don't know. Probably doesn't have one. Stuff out here is mostly unexplored."

James looks back up at the giant viewport. He's filled with questions, all of them unanswerable and probably wholly uninteresting to his crewmates. _Does anything live there? Why is the water red? Why aren't the clouds red, too? Are those green spots trees and grass, or just green rock? If they're plants, does that mean that there have to be animals, too? Why don't they care? How could anybody not care? We could be the first ones to step on this world. _The thought makes James want to plant a flag, to make a camp, set out into the alien wilderness and keep a journal of his amazing findings that will someday be published back on earth. He wants to see things that no man has ever seen, and then call Kal and tell him about them. But he's only here to break the planet open and take the money out, and Kal is light-years away in a secure military ship somewhere, unable to receive his calls. The unfairness of it all makes James want to cry a little, so he turns his back on the beautiful planet, trying not to think about what they are about to do to it.

A head appears, followed by a body and legs as a stocky man with short hair and a thick black mustache clambers up the ladder. He steps past James without acknowledging him, giving the planet overhead a cursory glance. "Hm," he grunts. "Briggs! How many deposits are we looking at?"

"Two, sir," answers the man at the console. He keys in a few commands and two flags appear on the planet's surface, a bubble of data attached to each.

"How much?"

"Uh, looks like about ten hundred kilos in site 'A,' maybe around two-thirty in 'B.'"

"We hit 'B' first then. Where's that good-for-nothing Rogers?" The captain marches back to the hatch and stoops over, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Rogers! Where the hell are you?"

After a few moments Rogers's voice comes drifting back up from the deck below, sounding put-upon. "Getting the crew, captain. Just like you said."

"Don't give me that crap, I told you to do that five minutes ago!" Sawyer steps abruptly back from the hatchway as a helmeted head comes up the ladder. The quarian James saw the day before emerges, quickly stepping out of the way of the captain.

"Excuse me, sir," says the quarian, nodding to Sawyer. "Rogers said you wanted us up here."

"Hm," says the captain, turning away and walking stiffly to the slightly elevated platform at the center of the room. He shoots McCormick a stern look over his mustache. McCormick takes the hint, stepping down off the platform to join James and the quarian.

In a few minutes' time the rest of the crew has made their way up from the other decks. They stand before captain Sawyer, who attempts to preside over the gathering but to his obvious chagrin fails to be taller than anyone. "Alright everybody," he says briskly, looking around at nobody in particular. "We've found our first planet. Three hundred thousand kilograms of element zero, right beneath the surface."

"When do we make orbit?"

Sawyer looks down sharply to see who has derailed him. Geoffrey Rogers looks back at him peevishly, his hair mussed and dark circles under his eyes. "We make orbit when we make orbit, Rogers. Ask the navigator if you really want to know. Now,-"

"When do we make orbit, Briggs?"

Briggs looks up distractedly from his computer screen. "Ten hours, I think. Add five minutes or so for an FTL jump into the system. I'm still working out the course."

Captain Sawyer coughs loudly, but Briggs has already gone back to his console. The captain turns back to his crew. "You've got ten hours to get prepped for blasting. I want Elmer's crew decided on. Everyone else is blast-team. Snap-to!"

There are a few half-hearted "aye, captain"s, and the crew begins descending the ladder again. James looks around, wondering what he should do, when he feels McCormick's hand on his shoulder. "Hoy, lad," he says, and James looks up to see that he has Anderson by the shoulder with his other hand. "I'm takin' Anderson down to get fitted up," McCormick continues. "I'll come get ye when we're done. Where'll ye be?"

"I don't know," says James, feeling lost. "What's going on?"

"Nothing yet," explains McCormick. "We've got to get into th' planet's orbit first. Then we run a couple more scans and drop a shaped charge right over the dig site. When th' dust clears, a blast team goes down t' carve out a more specific tunnel. That won't be you; ye need a bit more experience before you can do that. Ye'll be in the team that goes in after with Elmer. Ye'll hack out the actual minerals, pack 'em in crates and send 'em back for us. Boring work, but good exercise." Seeing James's expression McCormick smiles. "Why don't ye come down to engineering with us while you wait? That's where everything's happening right now."

…

It is nearly noon when Retellis squad makes radio contact. The young marine's voice sounds thin over the commlink, distorted by static and barely contained panic. "Feraror, come in! Feraror, do you copy? Elarus, come in. Elarus, do you copy?"

Kal starts when the voice breaks the quiet inside his helmet. He fumbles with his omni-tool, quickly switching himself onto the inter-squad frequency. "This is Elarus one. Identify. Over."

There's a pause, and then the soldiers voice comes back, sounding immensely relieved. "Keelah! This is Retellis squad. They've been jamming us, I've been trying to contact someone since-"

"Identify yourself," demands Kal, cutting the idiot off before he can reveal anything over the radio. _Just because they're not jamming us doesn't mean they're not listening. _"Where's Feraror one actual? Over." he asks, referring to commander Zarra.

"I don't know. We got separated. Sergeant Denaia is the head of Retellis squad—"

"Well then get off the line, you damned fool, and let me speak to him!"

There's a burst of static, and the a clipped female voice comes on over the commlink. "Elarus one, do you copy? This is Retellis one actual. Over."

"I copy, Retellis one. This is Elarus one actual," answers Kal, thankful to be talking to someone with some discipline. "What's your situation? Over."

"Not good," replies the sergeant. "The platoon fragged at the LZ. We lost our bearing in the storm, and we've got five missing and one confirmed dead. The good news is that we found the machine gun. The bad news is that it's got us pinned down." There's a brief pause, and then the sergeant's voice returns. "I guess it can't hurt to tell you where we are; they know anyway. We're north of the LZ, about two hours march through some really shitty terrain. The gun is on top of a rock formation. If you can get here your sniper should be able to take it out without too much trouble. Over."

"We'll be there. Heading out now. Over." Kal flicks off his commlink and turns to his squad. They're watching him expectantly. "Retellis squad is pinned down north of the LZ," he says. "Pack up and get ready to head out."


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: _Next chapter will be sooner, I promise. _**

**.**

**Chapter 5**

Kal's feet sink into the powdered snow, down several inches to where melted-then-frozen crystals have made a thin layer of ice. As soon as he puts his weight down his boot breaks through the crust, doubling the effort it takes him to pull it back out again. Two hours of this arduous trekking threatens to pull his mind into a barely-conscious "marching" state, essentially shut off except for the movement of his feet and the gentle swaying from side to side. It's a state of mind that he knows can save him from boredom on long marches, but Kal feels uneasy, very aware of how his crimson suit contrasts with the plain around him. Now is not a time to let his mental faculties slip away.

Despite his efforts to keep focused, there is a definite lack of things to focus on. All around the small group of marines white stretches off into the distance. The only break in the monotonous landscape is a bluish haze to the north that grows larger with painful slowness as they push onward. _It must be a forest. The LZ is up there somewhere. Were there trees when we landed? Maybe. Probably. Hell, I wouldn't have been able to see a squad of krogan berserkers in that storm. And Retellis squad is north of that. How did we get so far separated? Did discipline really fall apart that quickly? Zarra doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let something like this happen. Maybe he couldn't handle the responsibility. Maybe a whole platoon was too much for him._

Kal's brow furrows, his expression turning grim._ He might be dead for all I know. Who _are_ these people? We were told to expect salarians, not human hostiles. But we weren't supposed to land in the middle of a blizzard right on top of a machine gun nest, either. Quarian military strategy at its finest. See some geth and we just have to chase them. It's a complex. It's burned into their tiny little brains somehow. Should be burned into mine, too. I guess I got enough shit going on up there._

He kicks savagely at a clump of snow. It explodes limply into white sparkles. Kal's scowl deepens. _I really wish I knew what's going on here. Geth, humans, salarians, and now us. This is a recipe for galactic war. If we even get out of here alive we'll prob'ly all be shot. We'll be "rogue elements." Rogue elements or terrorists or something else they can disavow and get rid of. Keelah, I can't be executed. I've got a – _

Kal pauses mentally, searching for the right word. All the terms he can think of sound horribly insincere and common and inadequate to describe what exactly he has. _Well I've got a James, and I have to make it back to him. I can't do that dead in the snow, and I can't do that as a political prisoner for the rest of my life. _A smile ghosts across his lips. _How's that for a mission statement? _

Kal raises his eyes to the horizon. The blue smudge is beginning to resolve itself into a more jagged smudge that vaguely resembles a line of trees. He lifts a hand, calling halt, and the squad crunches to a stop behind him. "Get us a scan of the treeline," he orders the squad sniper, whose name he still cannot remember.

"Sir," replies the sniper. She lays herself down in the snow, extending her rifle and snapping out its bipod. Kal's eyes roam around the blank scenery, discomfort prickling his skin. _They should have prepared us better_, he thinks. _We should have had arctic camouflage, they could have at least checked the weather before dropping us-_

His thought trails off as something overhead catches his eye. A black speck is gliding through the sky in their direction. _That's odd_, he thinks, almost in a daze. _I don't remember seeing any birds. _The black dot grows, arcing down toward him. _That's not a bird. That's- _"Mortar fire!" Kal roars, his eyes fixed on the rapidly descending object. "Scramble … " His eyes do not leave the shell, watching intently even as his body screams panic and urges him to run. He squints against the sun. A whistling sound begins to be heard. Kal bites his lip, then makes a decision. "Left!" he cries, and throws himself away from the direction he prays the mortar will fall. He has only a second to think _Oh Keelah I hope I'm right_ before the shock wave sends him stumbling and falling face first into the snow. Kal picks himself up as soon as he's able, his ears ringing, and looks around franticly for his squad. More suited bodies are clambering out of the snow around him. He doesn't see any blood. "Sound off!" he commands.

The squad complies. Kal offers silent thanks to his ancestors, hoping fervently that he's been enough of a bastard that they won't want him joining them just yet. "Foward!" he calls to the squad. "It'll be just as hard for them to correct their aim this way." He has only taken a few steps when another shrieking whistle snaps his eyes back up to the sky.

"It's short!" one of the marines shouts.

"Heads down!" yells Kal, dropping to the snow and covering his head. The blast is less violent this time, and when Kal raises his head he sees a cloud of steam rising from farther away than the last explosion. _Why wouldn't they have corrected their aim? Can they see us? How could they not, I'm wearing bright red armor. _He stands up shakily, waving his squad forward once more. They break into an awkward jog, the snow dragging their legs down and making every step a battle. When the next whistle comes every pair of eyes in the squad is immediately scanning the sky, every pair of legs tensed to run. The whistle is fainter than the last though, and the detonation comes as a surprise, no one having seen the falling shell. A plume of steam rises from far to the left.

Kal feels he is missing something, but he knows that what he needs to do is push on into the cover of the trees and take out the launcher before whoever's on the other end of it learns how to aim.

There's a a _boom_, like cannon fire, so loud that it seems to echo through Kal's bones. He looks around in mounting panic, waiting for the inevitable crash of the shell. No impact comes. A marine looks up at him questioningly. "What was-"

The booming noise comes again, more high-pitched this time, like a heavy rifle shot magnified a hundred times. The ground shudders beneath Kal's feet. He slowly drops his gaze, staring numbly at the ground between his feet. He feels the bottom drop out of his stomach even as the whistle of the next inbound shell rends the air. _They see us._ _They're just not aiming to hit us. _Dread fills him slowly, rising higher inside him like icy water. He is unable to move.

"Fuck." It's the sniper, and her voice and the complete comprehension held in it break Kal out of his trance.

"_Move_!" he screams, the sound tearing from his throat full of fear and urgency.

The _boom_ resounds once more across the plain as Kal and the quicker half of the squad plunge forward. The ground shakes again. Then it is simply gone. Kal feels the snow slipping away beneath his feet, tipping him forward with a sickening lurch. He throws out his hands, trying to grab onto something, anything, but there is only more nothing. He pitches forward and something collides with the back of his head.

_Cold._ It is such a sudden, violent cold that it knocks the air from Kal's lungs and flashed red and black behind his eyes. His mouth opens, unable to draw breath, his body rebelling against the change. Something is holding him up, but it gives way slowly as he twists and turns, letting him down slowly, pressing from all sides with deep, tremendous cold. His eyes are open, or at least he thinks they are, but he sees nothing but black. He barely notices the blackness, his mind busy with its struggle to comprehend the cold. His body moves slowly, turning sluggishly as it falls, and a light passes before his eyes. It blinks at him from far away, a whitish blue that it seems he used to know.

His lungs cry out, tearing through the all-encompassing pressure of the cold, and he pulls in a ragged breath that doesn't feel right. The cold begins to seep away, slowly lessening. In its place a pleasant fuzziness takes hold, a deadening of sensation and a vague warmth. It is better than the cold and Kal welcomes it, feeling almost happy to see the light go as he turns over again, sinking ever lower in the cold void. _Sinking..._ A thought, a word floats through his mind, unconnected and alone. Puzzled, he tries to make it make sense, to join it up to more words and ideas. _Sinking. Sinking. I'm under water! _The revelation is accompanied by panic. Kal tries to flail his arms and legs, but the treacherous warmth holds him still, whispering that all will be better if he does not move. The tingling, prickling feeling is creeping up his legs. It has devoured his fingers and hands, and is starting up his arms to his shoulders. Something inside his head mutters _shock._ Another voice says _freezing_. Kal is having trouble hearing them.

His breath is not coming easy. There's something wrong, his chest burning even as he pulls in air that seems empty somehow. White spots begin to eat at his vision, dancing in the blackness. _This must be the end,_ he thinks numbly. _Let the warmness take me before I can't breath anymore. I want to fall asleep, don't want to be awake for this. _

But it's not right. There's something he was supposed to live for, and he feels an aching disappointment despite not being able to remember what it was. _I've failed_, he thinks. _What did I fail? My mission? No, that didn't matter. Something else then. Some … one. A woman? A man. James. Who is James?_

_ But you know who James is. Of course. _He almost smiles. Remembers a handful of moments with James's face in them, moments tinged with light and happiness. _Something I said … Something … _Kal feels a strange desire to remember what it was before sleep takes him. It was important, something about what he said. He can remember it, and then he can slip away into warm darkness. Maybe he will dream of James.

_I said … I said..._

_ "I'll come back."_

The words hit him like a blow, sending his mind reeling. _You said you'd be back._

_"I'll be back, James, I will._"

_You have to come back._

And he knows it with absolute certainty, and it is more true than the lure of sleep or the false warmth could ever be. He twists, catching sight of the light again. It is a very long way off, swimming in his vision. It seems it might not really be there at all.

_You have to come back._

He strikes out, kicking with his feet and clawing upward with his hands. With each movement the warmth recedes further and further, the awful cold returning to deaden his limbs and pull him back down.

_You have to come back._

Kal bares his teeth, fighting against his dead, useless arms, forcing them to work. The light wavers above him, or below him. He has no sense of up and down, only the light shining its beacon light-years out of his reach. He kicks harder, pushing the tendrils of sleep away as they threaten once more to overtake him. His lungs burn, trying to fill themselves with poisonous depleted air. The spot of light stays exactly the same. He does not know if it is getting closer.

_You have to come you have to_

His head pounds, his vision narrowing into a vignette, shadows dancing at its edges. He reaches out as if to grab the water and pull himself up. He cannot feel his legs moving and he cannot feel himself moving through the water. The light does not get closer.

_Youhaveyouhaveyouhaveyouhave _

The light grows, suddenly a giant, gaping hole in the blackness. It blasts into his eyes and he pushes harder, his fingers straining to touch the light.

_Have to come back. For you._

Something hard digs into his forearms, banging his knees as he scrambles, his vision a haze of black and white spots. Something hits him in the side and he topples over, his head hitting the ground. His fingers stretch out, relax. There's snow. Snow is falling. Kal smiles. _I made it. I made it home. James, I made it home for you. It's snowing. Do you see? _He feels all the manic energy of his ascent draining out of him. He wants to turn onto his back to look at the sky, but he finds he is unable to move. _That's okay. I'll look at it in the morning. We both will. Keelah, I'm so tired. _His eyes droop closed, the pains of his body moving farther and farther away.

_Get_

_ Get up_

_ You bastard goddamn it_

_ Get the hell up_

_ Don't try to play dead I know you're in there_

_ On your feet marine!_

The last one shakes something loose inside Kal's head. He opens his eyes, and the effort seems unreasonably difficult. His vision swims, gradually forming a picture that is too bright and confusing for him to make sense of. _Feet. Boots? Snow? Where is this? _Something grabs onto his wrist and he feels himself moving, being dragged. Suddenly the motion stops and there's a sharp burst of noise. "Get back, you motherfuckers! I can see you!" The staccato noise comes again, and then pain explodes in Kal's ribcage. He moans involuntarily. "Get _up!_ I'm not going to drag you any further, and that means we're both dying right here."

The voice is bossy, and it seems to be connected to the foot that kicked him. Kal opens his mouth to ask a question, probably along the lines of _who are you and why are you kicking me,_ when suddenly he remembers. It hists him like a tidal wave, the shock of it jolting him upright despite his body's strange lethargy. "Uaghh!" he says in alarm.

A marine is standing over him, unloading the clip of a heavy pistol into a line of tree trunks a few hundred meters away. Kal squints, barely able to make out moving figures between the trees. The marine stops, ejecting the thermal clip and slipping it into a pouch on her belt. Then she leans down to Kal, offering him a hand. "Come on," she says, her voice barely removed from desperation. "We have _got_ to go."

Kal takes the hand mutely, pulling himself upright with the strong grip. His own hands don't want to close properly. His entire body feels strange and unresponsive. He takes a couple of half-steps, struggling not to fall on his face. The marine wraps an arm around his shoulder, heaving him along as she makes for a point further down the line of trees.

"Shouldn't we be … Shouldn't … They're in ..." says Kal, his mouth refusing to form complete sentences.

"Got to get in the trees," answers the marine. "It's the only way. They'll just shell the shit out of us if we stay out there."

"Where's … Where's … ?"

"All gone," says the marine, and there's bitter finality in her voice.

Kal twists around, looking behind them. What he sees nearly takes his breath away. The snowy plain they had been hiking along all through the morning is shattered, a huge fissure spreading for what looks like a mile. The occasional patch of white ice bobs on the black water. _"_It's not a plain," he whispers to himself. "It was ice. Why didn't I realize?"

"Come on," says the marine, and she pulls him away.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: _Chapter updates are back on schedule, or at least as on-schedule as I can get them this month. This is the absolute worst time of the year for me with regards to free time, not to mention the fact that I now have three stories that need updating. Things are looking more back on track now though, so the regular 1-2 week schedule will return, if not immediately then very shortly._**

_**Thanks to everyone for your patience and reviews. Feedback is a tremendous help. Knowing what is going right and what is not is extremely important, and my thanks go out to everyone who has taken the time to let me know what they think.**_

_**And now, chapter 6 … **_

**Chapter 6**

The flat ice changes to land suddenly, the bump of the raised bank tripping Kal up. He stumbles and his nameless companion yanks him back to his feet, half carrying and half pushing him onward. Tall, dark tree trunks rise around them, blurring in Kal's confused vision. His body won't stop moving, his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably, yet everything seems to be happening in slow motion. He looks around, his mind trying to think properly. _Gunshots … are they still coming? Who's shooting? Are they still shooting at us? _He thinks he doesn't hear the shots anymore. _Good. Maybe we got away._ He's so tired. His arms are leaden, and a gentle warmth is easing closer, beckoning him. All he wants to do is sleep, but this stranger drags him relentlessly onward. Kal almost cries with frustration. He just wants to lie down in the nice warm snow, why is she forcing him to keep walking? Can't she see he's tired? He'll feel so much better after a short rest, he knows he will. Kal begins to hate the marine. _Bitch_, his mind mutters. _Is she trying to kill me? Why won't she let me be?_

Finally the forward motion stops. Kal drops gratefully into the snow, not bothering to lean himself against a tree, or even turn himself face-up. Instead he lies with his visor half in the snow, a feeling of peace and happiness filling him. He feels better already; not even cold.

"Hey!" It's the marine again. Kal tries to shut out her voice, clutching at sleep. Why won't she leave him _be?_ "Hey!" Now she's shaking him. Kal is jerked back from the threshold of sleep. He tries to push her away, to tell her to fuck off, but his teeth are chattering too badly and the sound gets lost in his throat. "We're not doing this again! Come on, you can't fall asleep! Come on, you stupid sonuvabitch, you won't wake up if you fall asleep now!"

Kal opens one eye slowly, his mind trying to understand. Of course he'll wake up; all he _needs_ is a short rest. Why won't she let him close his eyes for a few minutes? He watches the marine from under a heavy-lidded eye as she fumbles in her satchel, taking out a filled thermal clip. _What's she going to do with that?_ he wonders, barely interested. As he watches, the marine pulls a small folding knife from her boot and slips the point into one of the crevasses of the clip. She wiggles the blade a bit, then pushes down with both hands, cracking the clip. She picks the clip up carefully, hissing between her teeth and nearly dropping it as escaping steam scalds her fingertips. She keeps hold of it though, and gently lowers the cracked heat sink into the snow. It melts before Kal's eyes, the snow shrinking away from the shimmering thermal clip, vanishing in a haze of steam until all that remains is a small patch of dirt and twigs.

The marine drops the clip into the snowless patch and then, with a quick glance at Kal to make sure his eyes are still open, she stands up and begins breaking low branches off of the trees around them. _What is she doing?_ wonders Kal. He has no idea what the marine is playing at, but it's almost funny. He almost laughs, but the action is too much effort. He's running out of air, anyway, his breaths becoming farther and farther apart. _Getting tired of breathing anyway. Too hard. Doesn't … Don't need to … _His thoughts trail off, unfinished.

The marine squats down by where she put the thermal clip, and Kal can see a faint glow from the hole in the snow. He watches her snap twigs and bark from her pile of branches, feeding them little by little into the hole. Smoke rises and then fades away. The woman curses, and casts another glance to where Kal lies. She turns back to her pile of twigs, and then Kal opens his eyes wider as she raises her hands to her mask and pulls it away from her face. Kal catches a glimpse of a pale indigo cheek and a lock of silver hair before the marine turns her back on him, hunching over her twigs. She picks the little pile up in her hands, and it looks to Kal as if she is blowing into it. She punctuates her breaths with more oaths, as if swearing at the twigs will cause them to ignite. Kal's lips twitch into a smile around his chattering teeth, because it seems to have worked; a plume of smoke is rising from the pile, thicker than before. The marine gives one last breath, then sets the smoldering twigs back down in the hole. She puts her faceplate back on and adds a few more, larger sticks. Kal sees the tip of an orange flame rise above the snow. _Fire. She made fire. Just like that … turian, on … on … the planet … _His brow furrows. Where has he seen that same trick before? _No, not the same. He did it with rocks. Rocks! Fire with rocks, incre incre inceredicred … credible. _

Now he's being pulled upright, despite his feeble attempts to resist, and pulled closer to the small fire. The marine pulls him into the growing patch of snow-free dirt next to the conflagration and heaves him onto her lap, positioning his legs out next to the fire and his upper body against hers. She wraps her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Kal's body spasms with shivers. His side next to the fire begins to crawl with an awful tingling, as if it's being devoured by ravenous insects. He tries to pull away, to return to the blissful sleep state he had been approaching in the snow, but the marine won't let him. Her arms hold him down, holding him to her, and gradually the heat of the fire and the heat of her body begin to melt through the false-warmth of the snow, and Kal can feel the chill in the air again. His mind begins to fuzz over, but this time he can feel his heart beating steadily in his chest, and he knows that if he closes his eyes now he will live to open them again. He lets his eyelids droop, and his mind drifts away. He remembers being held in the same way, in a different time and a different place. Bits and pieces materialize: a familiar smell, alien but comforting, the feeling of hair between his fingers, the brush of stubble against his cheek when neither of them had bothered shaving in two days. _We're like a pair of cacti,_ he had said.

_What's a cacti? _Kal had asked.

And he had laughed, and Kal had laughed to see him laugh. He smiles now, sleep, real sleep, beckoning him. "I'll make it back," he whispers. "I promise, James."

…

McCormick drops James off in the engineering room, leaving him with a cheerful smile and a wave as he drags Anderson off to get suited up. James is left on is own in a narrow hallway lined by what look like century-old computer systems. He peers into the dimness ahead, his eyes making out a soft glow up ahead around the corner. He steps tentatively down the hallway, unsure whether he's welcome in this place. "Hello?" he calls softly.

A muffled _clank_ answers him from around the corner. James follows the hallways down a bit further, turning the tight corner and ducking under a low-hanging pipe. The hall continues for a short while, leading to a small room lit by a few dim bulbs and a computer screen. The hum of the engine is very pronounced, and James can feel it in his boots as he takes a few more steps, looking around for the source of the clank. "Hello?" he calls again.

"_Bosh'tet_!" says someone, and James suddenly notices the pair of two-toed boots sticking out from under a rack of pipes and wires on the right side of the room. James recognizes the accent, and the curse, as quarian. He takes a hesitant step closer, not sure what to say.

The boots slide out from under the pipes, revealing themselves to be attached to a pair of legs, which in turn are attached to the body of the quarian James saw earlier. He stands up, and James sees that the quarian is an inch or so shorter than himself and, judging by his voice, a few years younger.

The quarian offers James a hand, then quickly retracts it, wiping the palm hurriedly on the leg of his suit. He offers James the hand again, and James shakes it. "Not you," says the quarian cryptically. When James looks puzzled he adds quickly, "I mean, I meant the pipes. I was, ah, talking to the pipes. Well, not _talking_ to them, I don't actually _talk_ to the machinery, I just meant I wasn't calling _you_ a _bosh'tet, _it just sort of slipped out because I was trying to fix the pressure relay and the vibration keeps rattling the screws out before I can get them in, and … " He trails off, seeming to hear himself. "And you didn't care about any of what I just said, because it was completely irrelevant and I was just rambling on about nothing for no reason. Sorry."

"It's alright," says James, smiling. "I do the same thing sometimes."

"Well," says the quarian, seeming cheered by the fact that James isn't laughing at him. "My name's Zael'rhoda nar Neema. I do the tech, repair the engines and the gravity and the mech and whatever else can't be fixed by kicking things. Well, that's a lie actually, because whenever they can't fix something by kicking it they kick _me_, and that usually solves the problem."

"I'm James Mikaelson," says James, still smiling. He likes this quarian already. "I don't do anything. Well, not yet, anyway. I'm still figuring out how things work here."

"By kicking, usually," says Zael, the smile behind his visor audible in his voice. "You know anything about computers, James?"

"A bit," James admits. "I like working on them, although I don't get the chance often."

"It's a hobby of mine," says Zael. "Not that you could call these relics computers. They set me up at a Dell Smartlink and expect me to run the ship from it."

"A Smartlink? I've never heard of one of those."

"I'm not surprised, because it was the _first_ machine Dell made with a haptic display! Fifty gigabytes of RAM and a CPU that goes as fast as ten megahertz, when it feels like it. What a piece of junk."

"Do the omni-tool drivers even still work?" asks James, incredulous.

Zael shakes his head. "No, I had to buy new ones. It took me a while to find them though, and before that I was using a keyboard and trackball! Of course, that didn't matter, because when we got it it was only running Windows Revolution."

"I bet you got rid of that pretty fast."

"Well, it was kind of fun actually dragging windows around on the screen, but that got old fast, plus it would barely work with the ship's systems. It's actually running the Shipsoft 5.6 beta now. It's open-source, so we don't have to worry about licenses."

"That's not too bad," Says James, looking around at the small, cave-like room. Pipes snake this way and that, some of them spotted with rust. Bundles of wires hang like drying herbs overhead. The corner of a cot is visible at the edge of the room, with a small shelf of books next to it. A few more narrow walkways like the one James came down lead off from the main room, reminding James of a story he heard once about a labyrinth. The room is filled with the tick of warming and cooling pipes and the ever-present hum of the engines. The whole place has the look of a quietly staked-out territory about it. "Does anyone ever come down here?" he asks.

"Not really," answers Zael, following James's gaze around the room. "Nobody else really knows or cares how to work the systems. They leave it up to me. I stay out of their way, and they stay out of mine. Of course, I don't mean I don't _like_ to have people down here, it's not my ship after all, and it's nice to have someone down here, especially someone who knows about computers and things and actually takes an interest in what I do, I mean if you _are_ interested, it's okay if you're not …"

James holds up his hands. "Don't worry about it, it's nice to see something familiar. I've got no idea what they're talking about most of the time with the mining stuff. Computers, on the other hand, I know a little more about."

A loud _clank_ echoes down the hallway. "James, are ye in there? Hallo, James!"

"That'll be McCormick," explains James. "He's taking me to get suited up."

Zael nods. "Good, good. Well, come back and visit me sometime. If you want to. I can show you around the ship's systems."

"Sure," says James, turning to make his way back down the hall. "See you later."

"Right," says Zael. He turns back to the rack of pipes, giving them a nudge with the toe of his boot. "Back to work."

…

The sun is beginning its descent. Its steadily sinking light paints the snow a vibrant orange-gold, matching the oranges of the campfire as it hisses and pops in a now much larger patch of clear ground. The snow has retreated away from the heat, and the marine and Kal'reegar sit on the muddy dead grass, the marine's back against a tree trunk and Kal's back against her.

Kal'reegar stirs, opening his eyes slowly. His body aches, all over and in places he never knew it _could_ ache, but he is alive. His happiness to realize this is immediately bittered though, for there is no grace period before memory of the day's events come flooding back to him. _Did _any_ of them make it out alive?_ He thinks, despair weighing down on his stomach. _We did, but I wouldn't have without her. __Keelah, I don't even know her name. Who _are_ these people shooting at us? They're not geth. This was supposed to be a salarian world. _He closes his eyes again, letting out a heavy breath. _What a fuck-up. I don't know how we're ever going to salvage this. I don't know what to do, or who to do it to, and I don't even know where the rest of the company is. I failed. _"Shit," he mutters, almost under his breath, the sadness and anger finding their way out in a word.

A finger prods him in the side of the head. "You awake? Or are you talking in your sleep again?"

Kal opens his eyes. "What? I was talking in my sleep?"

"Just a little. But you've had a hell of a day. Name's Tannea'rhoda vas Ytriur, since we haven't been formally introduced." A hand curves around from behind him, followed by a calculated-sounding "sir."

Kal has the feeling he's being tested slightly. _Oh, what the hell._ He shakes the hand. "'Sir''s a bit moot now, don't you think? Kal'reegar vas Ierra, until it got mostly blown up. Now I'm _vas snow_ and more recently _vas lake_, until you pulled me out."

They're silent for a moment, both of them remembering the awful booming _crack_ of the ice. "You pulled yourself out," says Tannea at last. "I never fell in in the first place. All I did was drag you a couple hundred meters."

"You saved my life," replies Kal earnestly. "It means something to me."

"You must have something better to live for than more fleet rations, then," she remarks. "Speaking of which, who's James?"

Kal stiffens for a second. _How much did I say while I was out? _He forces himself to relax. _It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now. _"He's the reason I've got to live through this," he says simply.

Behind him he feels Tannea nod. "I figured as much. I've got one of those reasons to get back to, too, although not quite the same as yours I'd guess." She pauses. "Zael: he's my brother, out on his pilgrimage. We don't have a family for him to return to. That's why I've got to be there. I'll be on leave after this mission, and he's due to come back in a week or so. I've got to be there."

"We've got to see this through, then," says Kal. "It's our only way back."

"You're right," agrees the marine. "We're going to have to meet up with Retellis. Unless there's some major talent you've been hiding, we've got zero chance on our own."

_Maybe I do_, thinks Kal. _But I don't think it would be quite enough. I don't even know if the moon here will have the same effect. Maybe it was just localized insanity. Maybe whatever they put in me only works on that planet. I don't want to find out. _"Agreed," he says, shoving aside his line of thought. "What've we got?"

The marine shifts, turning to look at her meager collection of belongings. "One camo tent. Two knives. My rifle and its scope, plus plenty of ammo. Two fragmentation grenades, one smoke. A couple tubes of nutrient paste. That's it."

"I lost my rifle in the water," says Kal, after a quick inventory. "I still have my pistol, grenades, tent, and one knife."

Tannea pushes him forward, getting stiffly to her feet behind him. "Excellent. You feel ready to take on an army, Reegar?"

Kal stands up too, casting a glance at the setting sun. "I'm ready," he says., and thinks, _I hope I am._


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm back! So are all three of my stories. Man, does it feel good to hit that _upload _button again … **

**Chapter Seven**

The cold surrounds him, closing in and biting savagely at him where his suit is thinnest. Something has gone wrong with his suit filter, too, and the frigid air is coming straight in, stinging his nose and lungs. Kal pulls his boot from the snow and plunges forward, once again grimly cursing the fact that in its haste to face down the geth, the admiralty board neglected to send the team with proper equipment.

The wind slices over the ground, picking up a flurry of loose flakes and cutting into him like a razor. They are hiking toward Retellis squad, or at least toward where the squad was when Kal received their distress call. It seems like days ago now, and Kal's hopes are not high. In his mind the terrific _crack_ and the rising wall of ice replay over and over again, along with the question _did any of them make it out?_ Tannea trudges in silence behind him. Kal can only imagine what she must think of him.

_They must have. _Someone_ must have made it besides us. _There have been no incoming transmissions since the lake, but if any of Feraror squad remains then they, like Kal, would likely choose to stay off the air and keep their position hidden. For that same reason they have not been able to call ahead to Retellis to ask for a position report. So they walk.

It is some unmarked amount of time, days by Kal's reckoning but most likely less than two hours, when he suddenly feels the back of his neck prickle. Kal's hand snaps up, signaling a halt, and he holds perfectly still, eyes and ears straining. They are nearing the top of a gentle hill, bare save for a few conifers and the ever-present blanket of snow. The air is silent and still, and Kal slowly begins to realize that what he sensed was not a movement or a sound, but a smell. _Shit, not this, _he thinks, cold dread solidifying in the pit of his stomach,but there is no hint of the fire-like energy in his veins, nor the awful, wrenching sense of change. It's only one of the bittersweet "gifts" he now carries with him, along with the lessening of his need for light to see by.

_The water must have wrecked my air filter completely_, he thinks, pulling the painfully cold air in through his nose. There is something definitely _different_ about it, an undercurrent, like a dye floating in slowly running water. _Alien. Sweat, skin, machine oil. Blood._ Kal looks back to Tannea. The sniper is standing stock still, watching him. Kal motions to her to follow him, and begins creeping slowly up the hill.

As Kal nears the top of the hill he drops to a crouch, slipping from tree to tree as he tries to get a better look at the shallow valley below him. The scent is stronger, and he can almost make out voices now. A few more careful half-steps and he catches sight of movement, a figure wrapped in cloth and holding a rifle, watching something he cannot see. He edges still closer, and the whole scene is revealed.

A group of suited quarians stand in a single file line, surrounded by more of the wrapped-up figures. They are being slowly shepherded toward two closed-topped vehicles that sit idling in the valley. His heart pounding, Kal counts the quarians. _Seven. Two injured, at least two that are obvious. _He counts ten of the hostiles, three of whom are injured.

The backs of the vehicles, which resemble armored trucks with rugged-looking treads, open and the enemy soldiers begin to march the quarians inside. Kal watches for a moment, numb with horror, before, with a jolt, he realizes that he must act. He surges forward, meaning to charge down the hill, and is jerked back by a firm hand at his shoulder. He turns, snarling, and is met by the Tannea's pale violet face mask. She glares at him, her narrowed eyes visible through the glass. Kal bares his teeth, trying to shake her off, and to his surprise is slammed back against a tree trunk. Tannea leans in, her mask inches away from his, and hisses at him. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"We have to do something!" Kal whispers back at her, equally furious. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Stopping you from getting killed, since you're too thick-headed to do it yourself! What do you think you're going to do, run down there with no gun and rip their throats out?"

_"Yes,"_ Kal growls, even though he knows Tannea is right. "Alright, fine," he concedes, struggling to keep his voice low. He casts an frustrated glance down the hill. The line of quarians, now two lines, are halfway inside the trucks. "What do _you_ suggest?"

"Not running into assault-rifle fire, for one thing," Tannea says, more gently. "Listen. This could be the perfect opportunity to find out where these guys are coming from. We can hitch a ride into their base, or wherever they're coming from. _Then_ we can free Retellis."

_"What?_ We're just going to _climb in?_"

"Don't be uncreative. We've got the camo tents. We can get up on the roof of one of the trucks and hide there." Her eyes narrow further. "I won't ask you if you have a better idea, because I know you don't. So come on."

…

Captain Gale Hendrickson's eyelids flutter. He presses his lips together, trying to will the disturbance away. Despite his mental pleas, the knock comes again, louder and with a hint of impatience. "Come in, Garoth!" he snaps, his left eye twitching a bit. _Gods, they're giving me a twitch … _"Not too far in, though," he adds as he hears the door begin to creak open. "I've got this room smelling just the way I like it. Which is to say, entirely unlike unwashed farm animals."

Boots take a few tentative steps inside. "Uh, as you say, sir," says Garoth, the pointed remark flying a calculated two inches over his head. "Uh, sir?"

"What?" demands Gale, clinging to his patience. He should have known better than to ask these idiots to leave him alone for a few hours. _It's always too much to ask. Every little thing is __too much to ask._

"Well, ah, Charlie team made contact with the mercs what just landed south 'f us. Only they ain't mercs. They're quarians."

Gale's eyes snap open. "What?"

"I said they're _quar-"_

"I heard you!" Gale unfolds his legs, rising and turning away from the bewildered-looking Garoth. He runs a hand through his jet-black hair. "Quarians. What are _quarians _doing _here?"_

"I don't know, sir."

"Of course you don't, Garoth. You have no idea why this is a disaster. But _I_ do." Gale straightens up, staring at the wall. "Quarians. We're not _here_ to fight quarians. That facility on the top of the mountain, that is why we're here! But now that quarians have landed south of here, the mercenary reinforcements are going to have to land to the _north_, between us and the facility, which really fucks everything up!" He glares at the steel paneling. "Bravo team is going to be knee-deep in it if the mercs land before they get back."

Garoth is silent for a moment, then he perks up. "Sorry sir, but there's good news too! Charlie team captured prisoners, seven or eight of them!"

The room is deadly quiet for a few seconds. "Prisoners," Gale says softly. "Prisoners. _Prisoners?!" _He wheels around, his face a rictus of fury. "I didn't ask for _prisoners!_ I don't want to fight the quarians at all! We don't have the man power to engage enemies on both sides! On top of that, even if I _wanted_ hostages, where the _hell_ would I put them? You know where we were keeping the one prisoner we had? In the closet! I interrogated him in a fucking _utility closet! _Where am I going to put _eight_ prisoners?_" _Gale lowers his eyes, his brows drawing together mournfully. "I don't ask for much, Garoth. Do I ask for too much?"

Garoth leaned back two inches or so during the captain's outburst, and now he's trying to decide if it's safe to lean back. "Um," he offers.

"No," says Gale, looking at the floor. "I don't think so. I just want you to think," he continues, almost pleadingly. "Why don't any of you _think?_" He straightens up, shaking his head sadly. "I'll have to think of something. I can try to find out why they're here, at least. Then we'll be a little better off. I'll probably have to kill them, you realize that? I've got enough innocent suffering on my hands." He turns away, striding back to his seat in the shadows. "So much misfortune," he murmurs to himself. "So many lives cut short because of chance. It is the saddest thing about what we do."

Garroth stares at his boss, unsure of what to say. "I, well, I personally think the animals is pretty sad, sir," he says at length.

"Hm?"

"Well, whenever we do a drop or a, a, you know, a mission or something, it's usually in a bunch of trees or some mountains or something. And I always get to thinking about all the animals what lives there, you know, like the foxes and birds and all them. They always looks so scared, you know, like we're breaking up their home. One time when we was fighting them vorcha a while back, and they was throwin' grenades at us like crazy, well, after we killed 'em all, I was walkin' back and I saw this bird's nest, fell right out of the tree 'cause of all the explosions. Had three little eggs in it, blue and green with spots they was."

Gale looks at Garoth over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "And what did you do?"

"Well, I picked it up," says Garoth earnestly. "And I put it back up in the tree, Except, I didn't know if the mother would _know_. Like, would she know to come _back_. I wonder if she knew we weren't trying to hurt her or her kids, that we just wanted to kill each other. I wonder if she knew, or if she didn't and she hated us and thought we were trying to blow up her children what weren't even born yet. Or maybe she knew and just didn't care and hated us anyway."

"You thought all of that?"

"Well, sure," says Garoth, sounding a little abashed. "I mean, it just gets to botherin' me sometimes. Like when I'm thinkin' about it and there's nothing else to do."

"What about the people?"

"Huh?"

"What about the people you kill," asks Gale. "Do you ever think about them?"

"What?" asks Garoth, looking genuinely confused.

Gale smiles, shaking his head. "Go on. I have seven-or-eight unwanted guests to get ready for."

"Right." Garoth nods, seeming a little relieved. "You, uh, want me to do anything?"

"Just keep thinking. Oh, and find me a bigger closet."

…

Kal fights the urge to shift his freezing knees, holding himself stock-still and watching, muscles tensed, as the backs of the trucks slowly begin to raise. The engines rev, back wheels churn up fountains of snow, and then the two vehicles finally start inching forward. Kal flashes a hand signal back to Tannea, and then without checking to see if she's following he charges out of the thin line of spruce trees.

The snow pulls at him, trying to trap him, and he just barely keeps his balance as he barrels toward the nearer of the two trucks. A set of rungs lines the sloped back, and Kal focuses on them, pushing forward. He reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing the bar, and just as he reaches out to tighten his hold the truck's engine growls and the ladder jerks out of his reach. Kal snarls in frustration, forcing his burning legs to work faster. To his left he sees a flash of blue and silver as Tannea breaks past him and, bounding forward, grabs onto the back of the truck. Kal lowers his head, sprinting onward. A hand reaches out toward him, Tannea's voice calling out something incomprehensible and urgent. Kal shoots out an arm, grabbing the hand, and he's swinging upward, Tannea letting out a pained cry as she's nearly wrenched off of the ladder, and he reaches up and his hand finds a rung. He latches on, clinging to the ladder as the truck bounces and jolts and does its best to shake both of them off. "Up!" he screams, trying to be heard over the roaring engine and the wind and his own pounding heart. Tannea nods, somehow understanding him, and Kal turns and starts forcing his way hand over hand to the top of the truck.

…

_Groundbreaking._ James stares up at the panoramic observation screen. A magnified picture of a forest hangs over the crew's head, painting the inside of the bridge in greenish-yellow light. Strange trees with long, serrated leaves sway back and forth below the ship's eye, moving like waves on water. James stands hypnotized, watching silently as the emerald sea undulates slowly. A speck of darkness rises from the treetops, jumping across the screen. James blinks. _Could that be a bird?_ He finds himself thinking back to his home, not his new home with Kal but the place he called home once, long ago.

_Did Earth ever look like this? _James remembers seeing pictures, sometimes even videos of a place that seemed more like a dream or a fantasy than a real world. He remembers images of vast, rolling green hills, of dense primeval forests, animals with striped fur and shimmering scales and brilliant, phosphorescent skin. Supposedly there are places on Earth that are still like that, and supposedly there are still some of the amazing and wonderful creatures in zoos and wildlife preserves. James doesn't know if he believes it. The images of a green paradise don't fit the Earth he knew. _The blue planet, that's what it was called. Funny, when we finally cleared the atmosphere and looked back, it was brown …_

Somebody is saying something. James blinks again, pulling himself back to the present.

"Ye ready for the groundbreaking, boyo?" McCormick edges up alongside James, his eyes fixed on the screen overhead. He rubs his hands together, a grin of excitement showing through his beard. "Look at 'er. A beautiful ball of rock 'n eezo, just waitin' for us t' crack into." He drops his gaze to the man sitting slouched over the control desk. "Geoff, how are we lookin'?"

The man raises his eyes lazily, smirking at McCormick. "We're doing just fine. Just waiting on the word from our dear captain."

"Rogers!" yells a hoarse voice from below the deck. A clanking and a scuffling issues from the ladder tube, and in a moment captain Sawyer's head appears, followed shortly by the rest of him as he clambers ungracefully to the deck. "What's the hold up?" he demands, striding toward the command desk.

"Just awaiting orders, captain," replies Rogers, a touch too meekly. Sawyer glares at him, probably sensing the sarcasm in his voice but unwilling to call him out on it. He blows a puff of air out through his mustache, lowering his eyebrows. "Hff. Get on with it, get on with it. Let's crack the surface some time today, gentlemen."

Rogers pulls off a lopsided salute, raising his hand dramatically over the control panel. "Count-down, please."

"Just do it, you damn fool! Half a day's pay for every second you waste!"

Rogers sighs theatrically, dropping his fingers to the glowing panel. A series of beeps issues from the console, and then an echoing _clunk_ shudders through the craft. Next to James McCormick bounces slightly.

James watches the screen closely, but the swaying green landscape remains unchanged. "Is anything happening?" he whispers to the man beside him.

McCormick's grin widens. "Oh, it's happening, lad. Just watch."

James returns his eyes to the screen. A few minutes pass. Another bird takes flight above the gently dancing treetops. There's no sound, but James imagines he can hear the soft rustling of leaves, birdsong. And then there's a flash. Blinding white light fills the screen, so intense that James has to shield his eyes with his arm. Slowly, the light begins to fade away, and James lowers his arm. What he sees makes his insides turn cold. Where the wide landscape of brilliant green once was, there is now a nightmare image of black smoke and fire. All traces of foliage are obliterated, much of the picture hidden beneath thick, pitch-dark smoke that rolls across the scene in huge, tumbling clouds shot through with red and orange streaks. The screen flickers, and a hazy red filter drops over the picture. James can now partially see through the smoke. All that is left of the tranquil forest is a vast, gaping crater, its center black as the void, flames licking around its edges. It must be nearly half a mile across. All around James, the men begin to clap.

James realizes his mouth is open, frozen in an expression of horror and disbelief. He closes it, turning away from the terrible scene above them. "We did that?" he asks McCormick, his voice shaky.

"Of course we did," chuckles the bearded man. "A damn clean job, too. Straight into th' crust."

James's eyes fall to the floor, trying to get away from the picture overhead. He can't escape it though, for the entire cabin is soaked in its ghastly reddish glow. "Is this legal?" he asks, a sick feeling knotting up in the pit of his stomach.

McCormick laughs. "Who cares? Out here, no-one's going te care. What does it matter, anyway? We're going te be rich, lad!"

James shakes his head mutely, unable to express the the chilled, twisting feeling in his gut and unsure if he would if he could.He suddenly wants to go home terribly, even more than he has so far. He wants to press his face against Kal's chest and breathe in his scent and be far, far away from these awful men and their cruel, insane world. He wants to be told that he is not one of them. But James can do none of these things, so he squeezes his jaw tighter and curls his hands into fists inside his pockets and fights back the urge to weep for the act he has just taken part in, and for the light-years of space between him and his lover, and for the cruel, terrible ways of the universe.

…

The wind whips at Kal, stinging him like real lashes and threatening to drive him from the roof of the truck. He presses his head up to Tannea's from where he lies, almost on top of her, and screams to be heard. "What now?"

No reply comes from the sniper. Kal thinks for a moment. "We can't just attack them."

"Brilliant!" yells Tannea, the wind doing nothing to hide just how brilliant she thinks Kal's plans are.

"Alright," he says, the beginnings of an actual idea forming somehow. "We don't who these assholes are or what they want, but we gotta find out if we're gonna get our people back _and_ finish the mission."

"So how do we do that?" demands the sniper.

"Here's the plan," Kal screams into the wind. "We hid under the tent until we get wherever we're going. Then we slip off and join the rest of them. We can get them loose from the inside."

"No! Are you crazy? You want me to leave my rifle and get captured _on purpose!?"_

"We're not going to be able to do a damn thing on our own! Getting inside and joining up with the rest of the men is our best chance! I've still got my knife, and we've got the element of surprise."

"Right up until we drop ourselves into their hands!"

"Do you have a better idea?" The silence is answer enough. Kal wriggles his hand free and grabs Tannea's, giving it a rough squeeze. "We can do this!" he yells. "I'm not letting any more men die."

The sniper returns his grip fiercely. "_We're_ not letting any more men die," she corrects him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The transport finally grinds to a stop, the engine gurgling and cutting out to blissful silence. Kal reaches out a hand and grabs onto Tannea's shoulder. He gives her three slow taps, then very slowly raises the corner of the camo tent.

The trucks have stopped outside a low, wide metal building. Shouts come from below, with the crunching of boots in snow, and then the whine of hydraulic ramps lowering. Kal inches forward, peering over the edge of the truck's roof. Three humans pace below, waiting for the ramps to lower. They rub their hands together, their breath pooling in clouds of mist. One man offers a cigarette to another. A lighter appears out of a fold of clothing.

Kal crawls back, pressing his head against Tannea's. "There are three at the end," he hisses. "We can drop down into the space between the trucks while they're all milling around." A silent nod is the only answer he needs. Kal listens carefully, straining his ears as the number of footfalls below increases. One of the humans starts shouting to the prisoners, and then the footsteps begin to move away from the trucks.

Kal sucks in a deep breath, fighting down the fluttering in his stomach. _One. Two. Three!_ He rolls out from under the tent, half-climbing and half-falling down the side of the truck and landing in the snow with a crunch, followed by another as Tannea hits the ground behind him. Kal grits his teeth, waiting for angry voices to call out his presence, but nothing changes. He looks around the corner of the transport to see the ragged line of quarian prisoners moving shakily toward the squat building. Kal leans out a little further, trying to get a line of sight on the rest of the guards.

"Hey!" Something hits Kal hard in the shoulder blade and he tumbles face-first into the snow. A hand grabs him roughly by the arm and yanks him back up, propelling him onward toward the line of quarians. "These two were hanging back," yells the voice behind him. "Go on, ye sneaky bastards." Kal hears a thump and a stifled grunt behind him. He half turns to see Tannea regaining her footing, the human soldier behind them glaring at them both. Kal turns away and trudges on toward the line of quarians, Tannea falling in behind him. He smiles grimly behind his visor. _No turning back now._

The ragged group of quarians display various degrees of injury and fatigue. Kal searches for Zarra among the assembled, but the familiar navy-and-gold suit of the commander is nowhere to be seen. A few visors turn as Kal joins the line, but no-one says a word. Kal presses his own lips together, aware of how shaky his hold is on the element of surprise.

One of the bundled-up humans shoves his way to the front of the group, pressing himself against the wall of the building. Kal stands on the tips of his toes to get a better view. The man is in fact pressed against an ancient-looking metal door, a great heavy thing with rivets pounded in all round. There's a scraping of metal and a deep human voice comes from within. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Garoth."

"Me, who?" prods the voice suspiciously.

"Bartholomew, with Charlie company. Come on Garoth, are you thick or what?"

"I ain't thick. Now you wait there, 'Bartholomew,' an' I'll go an' see if I'm allowed to let you in. Might take a while though, seein' as I'm so thick."

The metal scrapes again, and Kal imagines a slit in the door shutting with a clang. The human gives the door a kick, and there's a muffled _"Shit!"_

Kal rubs his hands together, wishing his suit's heating filaments were still working. A few chilly moments go by, then the human raps a knuckle at the door. "Garoth! Hey, Garoth!" There's no reply. "Look, Garoth, I'm sorry I called you thick." No reply. "I'm tired, and cold, and hungry. Fuck, we all are. I was insensitive. I didn't mean it."

The slit scrapes open. "Yeah?" says the deeper voice hesitantly.

"Yeah. So let us in, huh?"

The slit shuts, and there's a great clanking of bolts and locks, then the door slowly swings back with a tremendous creak. "Come on," calls a human, and all of a sudden Kal and the rest of the quarians are being prodded and pushed into the dim building.

The door shuts behind them, the slam echoing through the darkened space. Kal blinks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust after the bright midmorning light outside. A long room slowly fades into visibility. Hard plastic seats protrude from the floor in parallel rows. A few ancient solid-screen monitors hang from the ceiling. At the far end of the room is a small gate, beyond which a ramp leads upward into shadow. Kal turns his head, craning to see what lies at the other end of the space, but all he sees are a few more doors. Everything has an air of disuse and antiquity about it. Dust coats nearly every surface, and a trail of mud and snow down the center of the room is the only sign anyone's been in here in the last fifty years.

The human soldiers have clumped up at the head of the tattered column of prisoners. They murmur to each other in apprehensive voices too low for Kal to make out. One of them casts a nervous glance toward the captives, then makes a gesture to the back of the room. One of his companions shakes his head.

Kal leans closer to Tannea. "Just wait," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm watching for an opening."

The sniper is beginning to reply when there's a click from the back of the room. The tiny sound, magnified by the fact that everyone has been waiting for it, snaps the humans to attention. The click reveals itself to be the unlocking of a door as the door in question swings open at the very end of the room. There's a pause, and then the sound of boots against metal decking as a human man strides out.

Kal gets a better look at the man as he approaches. He is of average height for a human, perhaps a little taller. He wears the light boots of a spacer, not the heavy, plated footwear of a soldier or shiny boots of a military officer. A dark jacket covers his lean frame, and to Kal it looks like real leather, although there are so many synthetic substitutes more cheaply available that there's no way to be sure. A similarly lean, clean-shaven face holds dark green eyes, roaming over the quarians from beneath lowered brows.

The man makes his way toward them with slow, even strides. He stops before the humans, giving the quarians one last look before turning his gaze to their captors. "We're leaving in three hours," he says. "Call down the shuttle. It will take us nearly that time to bring up all the power cells and men. And them," he adds, nodding towards the quarians. "They come with us. Any questions?"

"No sir," reply the men in almost perfect unison.

The man turns on his heel and walks away, back into the shadows at the end of the long, low room. The door swings shut behind him. It clicks.

The human soldiers let out a collective breath, their posture deflating slightly. "Alright," yells one man after a moment. "You all just sit your selves down there. Move out of the way of the door, just, I don't know, stay put." He turns to his friends. "You two watch them. If they try to get up, shoot them in the legs."

"In the legs?" says the man, sounding surprised through the layers of scarves and clothing. "But then we'll have to carry them onto the shuttle."

"Shoot them in the arms, then," cries the first man, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Do I look like I give two shits?"

"But …" protests the second man, turning to call after the first man as he stalks off. "What if I miss and hit them in the body? Their arms are skinny, it could be a near thing!"

"Just shoot them, alright?" yells the first man. "I'm going to get the power cells together." He pulls open a door, slamming it behind him.

…

"You don't look too good, boy."

James pokes his dehydrated potato mass with the plastic fork. "I'm alright. Just getting used to all this, I guess."

The man sitting across the mess table from him squints at him, deep brown eyes staring intently out from a sea of wrinkles. "You don't look too good," he says again. "But I'd be worried if you did. No one gets used to this all in one try."

James looks up, meeting the old man's eyes. "Have you done this long?"

The man blows out a funny half-snort. "Boy, how old do you think I am?"

James drops his gaze back to the potatoes. "I couldn't say."

"Old," says the man, leaning forward and emphasizing the word. "Old enough to have been in this since near its beginning, and let me tell you, we never used to do things this way. This," he gestures around vaguely. "Is an abuse. An abuse of power and an abuse of the worlds' bounties."

James shifts in his chair. "How did you used to do it?"

"Used, nothing. All decent crews do it the old way, the _right_ way. You send down probes to sniff out the eezo, or the platinum, or whatever you're after, then you land men, _men_, not bombs, and the men dig away at it. It takes months, years even, but it's respectful and it's thorough and we get _every last drop_. After an explosion like that, how much of the vein is gone, vaporized or scattered? God only knows." The old man shakes his head. "Sawyer must be in some hurry to be so rash."

James stabs at a boiled carrot slice, which slips away to the far corner of his tray. "I wonder what he's in such a rush for."

The old man looks around carefully, then taps the side of his nose. "I couldn't say for sure, but if I were you I'd watch out for the woman."

James looks up, surprised. "Really? She hasn't said a word to me. I don't even remember her name."

The old man puts his eyebrows through a complex dance, like sparring caterpillars. "You'd best keep it that way, boy. I've got a bad feeling about that dame. Remove any less than professional thoughts you might have of her, that's my advice."

James raises his hands, bemused. "Consider them removed."

The old man rises, swinging his legs over the bench. He leans over the table, offering James a hand. "The name's Andre, in case you missed it. Pleased to properly make your acquaintance."

James takes the hand. Andre's grip is tight. "James. Likewise."

The old man gives James a funny look."I know who you are, boy. You watch yourself, now. There's something funny brewing on this ship. It'll come to no good end."

And with that he's gone, leaving James with a cold meal and no idea what to think.

…

The shuttle bumps its way into the larger ship's bay. Kal feels rather than hears the resounding _clank_ as it locks onto its two runners. The thrusters slowly die, the metal tubes ticking as they begin to cool. The shuttle's occupants wait in uncomfortable, cramped silence until a voice comes over the intercom to announce the shuttle bay has been pressurized.

One of the three guards squashed onto the shuttle shuffles over to the door and deactivates the seal. With a hiss it slides open, letting out three humans and the remaining four quarians. The rest of the prisoners had gone up on a previous flight, Tannea being among them. Kal was forced to wait until the second trip. He hopes Tannea hasn't blown their scant cover by trying anything rash. _Although_, he thinks wryly. _Based on what's happened so far, it seems like that's my department._

The quarians are pushed off the shuttle and toward an elevator in the back of the less-than-spacious hangar. Based on what he can see, Kal reckons that they're in a small frigate, smaller than the _Ierra_. The line is stopped in front of the elevator door, two of the quarians and one of the guards get in, and the doors slide shut.

By the time Kal's turn comes he's seething with impatience. Before the elevator door even opens he hears raised voices. He recognizes Tannea, leaning forward with her visor almost in one of the guard's faces. _Shit._

"He needs medical attention!" the sniper is yelling. "Are you completely stupid? He's _bleeding_, he's been bleeding for the past _hour! _How long do you think he's going to last?"

"You think I give a fuck, you dumb bitch?" The human shoves Tannea roughly. "Sit the fuck down before I vape your ass."

Tannea springs back defiantly, shoving her visor back in the human's face. For a second Kal is afraid she's going to head-butt him, and then to his horror she does, slamming the glass of her mask into the man's face. There's a crunch and the man's eyes go wide. He claps a hand over his face, a thin stream of blood spraying out from between his fingers. Kal's rush of satisfaction turns quickly into dread as the shock on the human's tear-streaked face turns into fury. "You're dead!" he screams, spraying droplets of blood across the quarians and the nervously watching humans. His free hand lets go of his gun, letting it dangle from its strap, instead reaching for a large knife holstered at his side. "You're fucking dead, you hear me you little c-"

The human's words are cut short as a hand, blazing indigo, reaches out from behind him and grabs the side of his head. Before the human has time to draw breath the glowing hand smashes his head into the wall. It hits with a dull _thud_, and the human drops to the deck like a lead weight. Behind him stands the lean man from before, the glow around his left hand slowly dimming. He lowers his dark green eyes to regard Tannea and the rest of the quarians, then turns them on the rest of the humans. "Take the wounded to the med bay," he says mildly. "Bring the rest to the brig. But not that one," he nods to Tannea. "Take her down to my office. I will be there shortly." He turns on his heel and strides away without another word.

Kal turns to Tannea, opening his mouth to say something, he's not sure what, but before he can more humans are pushing in between them, separating the wounded from the hale and he's pulled away down the corridor.

…

Tannea is dragged into a small room by a pair of human men. Looking around the space she notes the absence of chairs or other furniture. The room's two tables are stacked with piles of books and small boxes and strange, unidentifiable objects. She stands uncomfortably, half-suspended by her armpits from the humans' arms, unable to do more than look around until after a few minutes the door beeps and opens again. Standing in the doorway is the lean, green-eyed man. He steps inside, waving at the two other humans. "Please, leave." The two men let Tannea go, nearly causing her to fall from fatigue, and without a word they leave the room. The door whooshes shut behind them.

The green-eyed man crosses over to a corner of the room, retrieving two rolls of green material. He comes back to the middle of the cabin, unrolling the two rectangular mats. As Tannea watches, he unzips his jacket, folding it and tossing it onto one of the tables. Clad in only a white undershirt, Tannea sees that he is well built, though not bulky. He lowers himself with a sigh, folding his legs and gesturing to the mat across from his. "Sit, please."

Tannea looks at him apprehensively. She can feel the knife's hilt jabbing her ankle, but she's hesitant to draw it. The man before her has shown that he's a biotic, of what strength she does not know. _Besides_, she thinks. _He might be able to tell me something useful. _She accepts the human's invitation, trying to silence the involuntary noises of relief as she gives her aching legs a rest and sits.

"I'd like to apologize for the behavior of Mr. Monroe," says the human, his eyes focusing on hers through her visor. "It was inexcusable. I do not train my men to act that way, and should he recover from his concussion he will find himself no longer in my employ." He blinks, as if remembering something, then rises and goes to a small locker at the far left of the room, returning with a canteen and two cups. He sits again, placing a cup complete with a straw in front of Tannea. "Water," he explains. "I've made sure your men have some down in the brig. I believe we may also have dextro-protein rations onboard, should your stay become extended."

Tannea allows the human to fill her cup. She raises the straw to her mask, carefully inserting it into the appropriate slot and drinking gratefully despite herself. The human smiles, filling his own glass and taking a sip. "I don't believe I know your name," he says.

"I don't believe I know yours," retorts Tannea, her tone more harsh than she intended. She bites her lip, regretting the outburst, but the human's smile only widens.

"Of course not, forgive me. I am Captain Gale Hendrickson. I am in charge of the ship on which you are currently a guest."

Tannea thinks for a moment, then decides she has nothing to lose by giving the human her name. "Tannea'rhoda."

The human extends his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Tannea." When Tannea doesn't accept the hand he lowers it, sighing and looking away. "Ah, what misfortune that discourtesy should be forced upon us. Personally I do not see how being on opposing sides necessitates rudeness, but of course that is an unpopular and uncommon stance."

"You wouldn't call killing us 'rudeness,' then?"

"That is what, with your help, I would like to find out." Gale raises his eyes, once more fixing them on Tannea's. "Why are you here, Tannea?"

Tannea blinks, feeling as if the layer of tinted glass between her and the human's strange, intense, green eyes is barely there at all. She says nothing, unwilling to divulge the nature of their mission, despite the fact that it seems surely doomed.

"Does it have to do with the research facility at the top of the mountain?"

"The one that you and your mercenaries are guarding?"

Gale raises an eyebrow. "I am not here to guard the place, and my men, while being at least partially brutish and stupid, are not all mercenaries."

"If you're not guarding the facility, then why are you standing in our way?" demands Tannea.

"But we did not even know you were here until you dropped onto our south flank! My men took you for the group of mercenary guards we were expecting to reinforce the guards at the facility. Obviously this is not the case, but as I still do not know the purpose of your mission, I cannot say that we are after the same goal."

"What goal?"

"I have come here to destroy the Solaris facility, to kill all guilty whom I find there, and to wipe all traces of its existence from this world."

Tannea's eyes widen slightly. The entire sentence was spoken in a completely serious and frank tone, but it doesn't make it any easier to take in. "Who ordered a mission like that?" she wonders, as much to herself as to anyone else.

"It is my own mission," says Gale, surprising her again by answering the question. "I have received aid from a benefactor, but the mission, and the cause, are my own."

"What benefactor would that be?"

Gale looks away, smiling softly. "He and I share a few basic goals, albeit with different motivations. He thinks I am going to bring him back research and schematics. Unfortunately, he will be disappointed."

Tannea shakes her head, intrigued although she knows she shouldn't be. "No. I don't believe it. One man doesn't just up and decide to level a research facility on some random planet in the middle of nowhere. There's just no way."

Gale turns the soft smile on her. He reaches a hand down the front of his shirt, drawing out a tarnished silver pendant on a black cord. Tannea's eyes trace the thing's curving lines. The pendant resembles a ring with a three fingered claw wrapped around it, or perhaps a tree, with one branch winding up each side of the ring and the third splitting it perfectly in two. "Do you recognize this symbol?" asks Gale. Tannea shakes her head. "I'm not surprised," says Gale, dropping the pendant back under his shirt. "Few know of us, and fewer follow our path. Someday, perhaps, our numbers will swell and we will be known throughout the known galaxy. Or," he says, the strange smile returning. "Perhaps not."

"What does it mean?" asks Tannea, trying to remember if she has ever seen the image before.

Gale rises, sighing again. "Shall I tell you my story, quarian?" He turns away from her, looking at the blank wall. "No, not today. Someday perhaps, but not today. I will return you to your men. They will be pleased to have their commander back, no doubt."

"You have Zarra?" blurts Tannea excitedly.

"Who?" Gale's brows knit together. "Oh, I see. I had taken you for a leader of men after the display earlier. No, I do not know of any Zarra." He crosses over to the door, giving the metal a sharp rap. The segmented surface slides open and the two human guards fill the doorway almost immediately. "Take Tannea down to the brig," Gale commands. He turns back to Tannea. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He reaches down to the table, picking up a scrap of cloth and tossing it to Tannea, who catches it reflexively. Gale waves a hand in front of his face, and Tannea's eyes cross as she focuses on the splatter of dried blood across her visor. "See that it stays clean," murmurs Gale, a hint of danger in his voice.

Tannea turns her head as the guards manhandle her out of the cabin. "Why don't you just kill us?" she demands. "Why even go to this trouble? We're not going to tell you anything."

"Perhaps because I wish to have hostages," replies Gale. "Or perhaps," he continues, his voice softer. "I am weary of killing. Goodbye, Tannea." And the door shuts.


End file.
